The Fae King
by ShortStackOfPancakes
Summary: Alfred F. Jones is a small-town guy living with his brother in southern Virgina, until a phone call about the death of a mysterious relative brings them to the UK.  Who was this woman?  And why is Alfred having visions of a man with green eyes?  AU USxUK
1. Prologue

The wind rushed past him in a roar and threatened to tear the clothes from his flesh. His strawberry blonde hair whipped violently in the air as he raised his arms to inhale the breeze. It smelled of clovers and dew, and left a lingering taste in the back of his mouth. The night sky above him was an endless void of stars. They stared down at him in their white wonder, like the halos of a thousand guardian angels. The moon was their everlasting father, a pale orb hanging full and bright in the sky. Grass cut at his ankles with the force of the bellowing gusts, and he thought—somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind—that those would be a bitch to take a shower with afterward.

But God, it was amazing. The smell, the sounds, the sights of this beautiful field of emerald glory. Crickets chirped everywhere around him, and he laughed as he allowed the wind to finally push him over. He felt the cold night dew soak into his white shirt. He didn't care. Spring blue eyes gazed at the massive expanse of sky in pure ecstasy. He turned his head to the side, and found himself staring into a pair of emerald green eyes. Instead of being alarmed he found himself extremely happy. Slowly his hand lifted to touch the porcelain skin the jewels were set inside. The blonde man's fingers were millimeters away from the flesh he desired to caress when it disappeared in a puff of dandelion seeds. The wind swept them up in a merciless grasp and took them away. Disappointment fell across his features as the sound of someone's laughter, too, swept around him and was ferried off by the wind.


	2. Chapter 1

Alfred F. Jones opened his eyes with an inward groan. His mind eased slowly out of the sluggish entrapment of sleep and Alfred ran a hand through his hair. With a glance at his clock he groaned again. The blonde still had an hour before he had to get up and get ready for work. Damn those dreams. Always it was the same with them. The emerald eyed man was always there in some way, be it just a pair of eyes or the softest lips Alfred had ever seen in his life. But right before he could touch him, he would disappear in a cloud of dandelion seeds.

A flash of lightning lit up his room and thunder boomed outside his window. Alfred sighed and flung the blankets off of him. Every time he dreamt of this mystery man, he would get a little closer to touching that skin. It was beginning to drive him insane. He had sometimes woken with his hand stretched out in front him or his eyes streaming with tears of desire.

Alfred stretched and yawned like a cat before making his way to the shower, shedding his stars and stripes boxers along the way.

"God bless America," His tired voice croaked. Shivering a little from the cold tile floor; Alfred turned on the hot water. He then grabbed a towel and set it on the counter next to his toothbrush. However, before he could turn back to the shower the man caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Tall and blonde, with his hair sticking out all over the place. His eyes locked onto one cowlick in particular, one he'd always had and which he'd endearingly named Nantucket. Cerulean blue eyes with bags under them from lack of sleep, slightly tanned skin, and a muscled chest that he was quiet proud of. He was proud of his biceps as well, but mostly his chest and stomach. Eating McDonalds all the time had threatened to put some extra flab on his frame (his twin brother Matthew still made fun of him for it) but he worked out vigorously and kept himself in shape.

Displeased with the bags under his eyes he rubbed at them tiredly. Alfred wasn't necessarily concerned with his appearance in a vain manner, but he didn't want Matt to get worried and start asking questions. He was worried enough when Alfred had confessed he hadn't been getting much sleep.

Alfred stopped rubbing his eyes and stared at himself in the mirror again. It wasn't much better, but at least he didn't look like a zombie anymore. He turned and climbed into the shower, letting the hot water douse his body and relax his tense muscles. After standing for a few moments he quickly lathered up and cleaned his body before he started on his blonde hair. He even conditioned his hair to keep the golden shine he was so proud of. Alfred would never admit to Matthew that he conditioned, and kept the bottle hidden away in a secret corner of the bathroom at all times. When he finished he shut off the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist; but first he made sure that the floor wasn't too slick before stepping out and heading to the sink to brush his teeth.

A knock on the door made him pause, mouth full of minty fresh foam.

"Eaaah...?" He grunted around the brush.

"Al, we just got a phonecall."

Alfred blinked. "Dis earwy? 'Bou wha?"

"Alfred," His brother opened the door. Their facial shape was strikingly similar, with the key differences being Matt's long—almost shoulder-length—hair with a singular curl that always seemed to hang into his face, and Matthew's darker blue eyes. In the right light, they were almost violet. "Spit out that toothpaste and _then_ ask questions."

Alfred obediently spat into the sink. "So what's going on?" He asked as he wiped his mouth upon a different towel. His brother had seen him naked before, but he didn't think it was worth flashing Matt so that he could wipe the toothpaste from his lip.

"Our aunt died," Matt explained. Alfred's mouth turned into a frown.

"We had an aunt?"

"Apparently she's been sick for years. She's like our Great-Aunt or something. When Grammy moved from the UK her sister stayed there."

Alfred mulled this over. "Huh. You'd think Grammy would have mentioned her."

"Yeah, I really don't know either. But, hey, get dressed and we can talk about this over breakfast," Matt said as he exited and shut the door behind him with a soft click.

Alfred hurriedly dressed himself. He then wandered into the kitchen, where (as per the usual) Matt was preparing a giant stack of flapjacks and smothering them in maple syrup. Alfred strode past his brother with purpose, his eyes locked on his soul mate. He leaned down and gave her a kiss.  
>"Morning, beautiful."<p>

Matt rolled his eyes. "If you don't quit doing that, I'm going to throw that coffee maker out the window."

Alfred pet the little machine with much affection. "Don't listen to him, Zelda. He'll never hurt you."

"...Coffee's terrible for you, you know."

"Says the guy smothering his pancakes in a gallon of syrup."

"They're not pancakes, they're flapjacks. There's a _difference._"

"Whatever."

Matt rolled his eyes again. "So I promised that lawyer we'd call him back. You want me to do that while you're at work?

"Sure. I don't really care." Alfred shrugged. "Although I am wonderin' if this old lady left us anything."

Matt stirred his flapjack mix and turned to look at Alfred. "I think that's one of the things the lawyer wanted to talk about. He said something about us flying out there to deal with the property and paperwork and...stuff."

"Fly out? To England? Does this guy think we're made of money or something?"

"I dunno, eh."

"Matt, your Canadia is showing."

Matthew opened his mouth to speak but stopped himself and let out a sigh.

"I don't make fun of you when your accent shows, you know."

"But I was raised in Texas. That's different. Texas is _awesome!"_

_ "_Yeah. Awesome. Because that's totally the word I would use."

"Don't be hatin'."

"Oh, God. When do you go to work?"

Alfred visibly frowned. "I don't have to start getting ready for another good half-hour. Why?"  
>"If you don't reign in your blatant Americana, I'm going back to bed."<p>

Alfred rolled his eyes at his brother. "Whatever, Mattie. So why do we have to fly all the way out to England to take care of this stuff? Can't he just fax us the paperwork?"

"I would think so, but the man seemed pretty set on the idea that we come out there. I don't know where we're going to get the money," Matthew's mouth was set in a firm line. "We're not doing so bad financially, but we can't handle such an expensive trip. Plane tickets alone would-"

"Mattie, relax," Alfred said. "We'll worry about that later." He stood and went back to his coffee-maker, pouring himself a generous mug and inhaling the rich aroma. "Zelda, you beautiful woman, this may be your best cup yet."

"It's a _machine_, Al."

"Don't let her hear that! Zelda, baby, he didn't mean it..."

Matt sighed, "You should really consider rehab."


	3. Chapter 2

Alfred drove to work in his big red Chevrolet pickup truck, humming along to the radio and sipping on his fourth cup of coffee that morning. He'd never tell Matthew just how much he had come to depend on the caffeine to keep him going through the day. His poor brother already had enough going through his mind. He didn't need to know just how desperately Alfred was beginning to need a good night's sleep.

The man glanced out his window and spotted a rather attractive looking girl jogging down the street. He put on his best movie-star grin and waved at her, getting a little rush of pleasure as she waved and smiled back. He held his index and pinkie fingers up to his ear and made a 'call me' motion. His smile grew wider as the woman shook her head and kept jogging, laughing to herself as she did. Alfred rolled to a stop at a red light and reached over to roll down his window to greet the woman properly. A little early morning flirting would be a great boost to his self-esteem and get him through the day.

Suddenly he couldn't breathe. His chest locked up and tightened even more. His head ached as images raced through his mind at an overwhelming speed. A flower garden, a portrait hanging on a wall, a cat with the biggest eyes he had ever-he felt tears welling in his eyes as a horrible, ugly wave of guilt came crashing down around him. Alfred's heartbeat accelerated rapidly until it felt like it was going to beat right out of his chest. His vision blurred around the edges; the trees down the road became a pair of enormous emerald eyes, narrowed at him in fury.

_Alfred...! _

The voice rang thick and powerful in his mind. It was beautiful. Elegant with an inexplicably British accent. It was like a blow to the back of his head, forcing the American to realize quickly what was going on. He was having a panic-attack. Alfred groped for his seat belt in the vain attempt to free himself.

_Alfred, you bloody fool! Snap out of it!_

Alfred jerked upright, gasping as his lungs sucked in a huge gust of air. He nearly jumped again as someone began beating rapidly on his window. He turned, chest still heaving with the effort of breathing.

"Sir? Sir are you okay?" It was the woman. Quickly, he slammed his foot on the gas pedal and sped away. His hands shook on the steering wheel. The blonde felt tears running in rivulets down his face, his chest ached, and he blinked rapidly to clear his vision.

"Oh God, oh God..." He choked, unable to fathom what had just happened to him. Alfred drove until he found a suitable parkinglot to pull over in. He whipped his big truck in and parked it, then unbuckled and allowed the tremors of his body to seize him. The man put his head in his hands and took a few deep breaths. Light headed, his vision swam and Alfred closed his eyes tightly. The blonde tried to keep down the feeling of nausea that was slowly rising up his gullet. The voice that had snapped him out of the attack kept swirling around his mind. It felt as though he should know who it belong to. It felt as though...

Alfred frowned and rubbed his temples. The memory was there, on the edge of his mind. He was just unable to grasp it. Hands still shaking, Alfred reached into the glove compartment of for his phone. Quickly he dialed Matthew's number.

"Hello?" Answered Matt.

"H-hey bro. What's goin' on?"

"I just got off the phone with—are you alright Al? You sound horrible."

"J-just a caffeine crash," Alfred chuckled nervously, "Off the phone with who?"

"Our great aunt's lawyer. He said she had a restriction in the will that we _have_ to come out to the estate before anything can be finalized."

"Like s-some kinda scary movie where they have to stay all night to get the fortune?"

"Something like that. Are you sure you're okay?"

"N-never been better. So what about the money to fly out there? Where are we going to get that?" He could feel his heartbeat begin to slow. This was good. If he could keep himself distracted, then maybe he would pull out of this alright.

"The lawyer said that there's a fund set aside for us to get tickets out there. This woman really thought of everything."

"That's... kinda weird for a relative we've never met."

"Yeah, I know. Anyway, he's already booked us a flight in a couple of hours. Is there any way at all you could call off work?"

Alfred sighed. A day off was exactly what he needed. "Sure. I'll take a couple of weeks off, while I'm at it. I'm headed home now, I'll see you in a few. Okay Mattie?"

"Mmkay. See you later, eh," The younger brother replied with just a sliver of his Canadian accent slipping through.

"Matt..." Alfred teased with a grin.

"Shut up."


	4. Chapter 3

The airport was extremely dull. Or so it seemed to Alfred. The two hour drive to the airport had been spent counting every car, and the three hour waiting period during which they had to check their baggage.

There was also the minor event when Alfred was nearly detained by the TSA for refusing to remove his Converse.

"Someone might steal them!" He protested.

"No one wants your nasty old shoes!" Matthew yelled in frustration.

"They're _vintage!"_

_ "_Sir, we're going to have to ask you to step into this room here."

"Al, take off your damn shoes!"

Alfred proceeded to finally remove his Converse. He bitched and whined the entire time, but if saved them a very uncomfortable body cavity search, Matthew was willing to put up with it. It was a very awkward and uncomfortable walk past the crowd and toward their terminal.

The younger brother sighed and leaned his head back on the cool metal of a bench they had seated themselves upon. In front of them, people bustled to and fro through the small Virginian airport. No one paused to look at the men as they hustled by. Each was far too preoccupied with their own agenda.

"Don't you ever do anything like that again," Matthew sniped, sparing a glare at Alfred.

"...These are my favorite. First I can't bring my freakin' shampoo on a plane, now they want my shoes," Alfred countered bitterly.

"They didn't want to keep them. They just wanted to make sure you weren't packing a shank or something. Although I dunno why. With all those holes in them, you'd think they'd be able to take one look and see that you're harmless."

Alfred glanced down and wiggled his sexy-and a little weather beaten- bright red Converse. "Bro. Don't diss my sneaks."

The younger brother closed his eyes and counted silently to ten. "When does our flight leave?"

"Uhh..." Alfred checked his watch. The tiny hands on the American flag told him it was half past three. "In about forty-five minutes."

Matthew kept his eyes closed and snuggled up inside his big red hoodie. "Good. Then we have some time to take a break."

The taller blonde looked at his brother and then back to the bustling crowd of people. "I'm gonna go get a coffee from Starbucks, okay?"

"Sure," He was waved away. "Just be back before we have to be at the terminal."

Alfred hopped up and wandered off to their left. He passed a couple of angry Russians yelling at each other as he did so. The young man ran a hand through his hair and sighed. This was going to be a long as hell trip. Having never been out of America before, Alfred was excited to see some new ground. He'd seen the border of Canada when Matt came to live with him and his mother, but he'd never actually crossed it.

His head tilted up when he caught the scent of the rich coffee beans. Ah, coffee. His dad had loved it before the divorce. Alfred could remember waking up early in the morning and smelling coffee and bacon all through the house. He could remember their mother, blonde and smiling as she sat the plates down in front of he and his brother. Then, after the accident...

Alfred shook his head. It was silly to think of it now, after all these years.

The Starbucks was busy (as expected), so he took his place in line and put his hands in his pockets. His father had been the one to introduce him to the delicious drink. A small smile appeared on Alfred's mouth as he recounted the memory.

_Coffee? How can you drink that awful bean dribble?_

The blonde' s head jerked in alarm, glancing around for the source of the voice. If anyone else had heard anything, they gave no notice.

"Can I help you?" Asked the very bored, rather pimply, teenager running the register. Alfred turned to look at him.

"U-uh yeah. I'll take a decaf Pike Place. Black, please." Usually he despised decaf, but he didn't think his nerves could handle any more caffeine.

"What size?" The kid was obviously disinterested. Alfred's eyebrow twitched. He got the feeling that in some way his order was going to be messed up.

"I'll just take a tall."

The kid made his coffee and he paid for it; making sure not to leave the brat a tip. He sipped on it slowly while he made his way back to his brother.

_Maybe I am losing my mind,_ the man wondered. _Getting out of the country might be a good thing for me._

Matt glanced up at him. "Were they out of the trenti?"

"Nah. I figured they wouldn't let me take my coffee on the plane. I got a smaller one."

"I wonder if you bleed coffee grounds," The younger brother said with a smile.

"If I did that would be so cool," Alfred grinned.

Matt laughed. "Al, you are such a dweeb."

"But I'm _your_ dweeb!" Alfred pulled his brother closer with his arm and ruffled up his hair. Matthew let out a rather undignified squeak and laughed. He shoved Alfred away and proceeded to fix his mop of golden hair. A smile still graced his face as he put his curl back where it belonged.

"You're the reason we get thrown out of places like this."

"I'd like to see them toss me out. No one bans a hero from his adoring public!"

_"Flight 243 to London is now boarding. Flight 243 to London is now boarding."_ The intercom buzzed through. Matt sighed.

"That's us. You ready to go, _hero?" _He teased.

"I'm always ready." Alfred flashed him a thumbs up.

**A/N: I'd like to thank everyone who has reviewed and is watching this story up to this point. It's really a great motivator to keep the story going when I've got awesome people like you to be my turbo boost.**

**These three chapters were pre-written to their uploading, and I suspect chapter 4 will take a little longer to get up. But don't worry. I'm dedicated to writing this and will put it up as soon as it's completed.**

**Also, I imagine going through an airport with Alfred would be so much more torturous than this. Matt's just lucky he's losing his mind.**

**REVIEWS ARE GREETED WITH MUCH LOVE.**


	5. Chapter 4

The flight was ridiculously slow and uneventful. Alfred was so fidgety he was almost pacing up and down the entire plane. It didn't help that Matthew popped in some headphones and proceeded to ignore the world for most of it.

The arrival wasn't really much better. As they disembarked the plane Alfred was frustrated by the shuffling pace everyone seemed to be going. They turned and immediately headed for luggage pickup. The wait seemed agonizing while the luggage carousel went around and around. Alfred was almost tempted to hop on it and try suitcase surfing—but a quick glance from his brother told him that would be unacceptable. Alfred instead settled for whistling a rather obnoxious tune.

Matthew slugged him.

"Ow!"

"I know you're impatient, but we'll be there soon."

"But Mattieeeee..." The taller whined.

"Hush or I'll hide your glasses while you're sleeping again."

Alfred pouted and grabbed the slim wire frames. "You are such a bully. I remember when you used to be all quiet and sweet." Matthew rolled his eyes at him.

"Someone had to keep you in line after mom died."

"Whatever," The older grumbled, "I was a perfect child."

"You didn't have to live with you as a teenager."

Alfred grunted unhappily and stepped forward to get their baggage from the carousel. "Alright, here's our stuff. Where are we supposed to meet this guy?" He asked as they headed toward the exit.

"His name is Toris. He said he'd find us. I dunno where—oh my God look at that guy." Matthew's palm promptly met his forehead.

In front of the airport, dressed in an extravagant pure white suit, stood a man with a pair of dark and stylish sunglasses and long blonde hair in a style that almost matched Matthew's. He was watching the crowd and stroking his blonde beard stubble thoughtfully. He wore a golden watch on his wrist and kept checking the time on it.

"Please tell me that's not him," Alfred said.

"...That's not him," Matt replied.

"Oh thank God."

The man seemed to notice their staring and glanced over. He grinned and pulled down his shades and shot them a wink with his bright blue eyes. Alfred's skin crawled. A glance at Matthew told him his brother wasn't having quite the same reaction. The younger brother's face was redder than his hoodie, which had miraculously become three sizes too large as he hid himself inside.

The taller of the two snorted. "You're pitiful. This is why you could never have a relationship in highschool. Terrible taste." Matt could only squeak in retaliation. The man in the white suit chuckled to himself and made to walk over to them. However, before he could, he stopped and raised a puzzled eyebrow.

"E-Excuse me?" A man approached them from behind. Alfred turned and Matt emerged from his clothes. "Hi," The man said with a smile. "Are you two Matthew Williams and Alfred Jones?"  
>"Yeah, that's us," Alfred said. He put his hands in his pockets and tilted his head to the side. "Are you the guy we're supposed to meet?"<p>

The man nodded. "Y-yes. I'm Toris Lorinaitis. I'm the lawyer in charge of your Aunt's will." He smiled and extended his hand. Alfred grasped it and shook hands with the man, since for some reason Matthew was out-of-order. Toris was average height, with auburn hair that fell to just below his chin. He had a pair of deep blue eyes and a kind smile. He wore a brown suit and carried himself as though he didn't have much self-confidence.

"I'm Alfred," The blonde smiled his best movie star smile. "Matt said you wanted us to come and see the estate?"

Toris nodded politely. "I have a car waiting right this way, if you'll please follow me." He turned with a smile and began to walk away.

Alfred grabbed his brother and dragged him after Toris. The man in white waved farewell; and Matt hid his face once more.

Toris drove them to the estate. They spoke casually, each of them preferring to save the law talk for when they actually arrived and saw the state of the building. Toris' was Lithuanian by birth, but found himself living in England at a young age when his parents were forced to leave the country. He wouldn't go in to depth exactly what happened and neither Alfred nor Matthew wanted to press him. The brunette was a very pleasant man.

"You're going to love this place," Toris said with a smile. "It's truly a beautiful home. Your aunt kept it in good condition."

Alfred put his feet up on the dashboard. "It's weird how we've never even heard of this place." Toris turned to him with a startled expression.

"What? Really?"

Matt leaned forward in his seat. "I told you this on the phone, Toris." He then smacked Alfred on the side of the head. "Put your feet down. This isn't your car." Alfred grunted and grudgingly moved his legs back to where they were supposed to be.

"That's... That's very odd. The way your aunt spoke, I thought for sure at least Alfred had been here before."

"Nope," The American said. He began staring out the window. It was strange how quickly the scenery had gone from a sprawling urban city to rolling green countryside. Toris slowed the car down and turned left onto a dirt road lined by trees. The brunette's brow was creased in thought. Suddenly he smiled and the car rolled past giant iron gates.

"This is it," Toris said. The brothers could only stare, open-mouthed.

The mansion sat on a giant lawn that spread out over acres. It was a brilliant Victorian-style home with wide archways and gingerbread lacing around the roof. Large bay windows looked down on them with an eerie-feel. Smoke rose from a chimney in the back, and though it looked as though it was in a good condition; the place still looked empty.

"It's beautiful," Matthew murmured.

Alfred swallowed hard. "Did uh... Did she die in here?" The lawyer glanced over at him.

"She did, yes."

Suddenly he felt as though he was being watched. The blonde's blue eyes widened as he stared at the oak doors at the entrance of the house. Sitting on the doorstep was a tan and white cat, with thick black spots over it's brilliantly emerald eyes.

Emerald eyes that looked extremely pissed off.

"That's Iggy," Toris explained, "He was your aunt's cat."

Matthew knelt down and held out his hand. "Here kitty-kitty..." the Canadian cooed. Iggy tilted his nose up in the air and sniffed. Those big eyes never seemed to leave Alfred, even though the cat was obviously reacting to Matthew's attempt to win the cat over. Instead Iggy turned on his little kitty haunches and began to walk away, but not before turning one last scathing glare directly at Alfred. The blonde was stunned.

The lawyer chuckled. "He'll warm up to you; I promise. Iggy didn't like me at first either. I thought we'd never get along until I let him have a drink of my tea one day," Matt laughed with him. For some reason, neither of them seemed to take note of the feline's odd behavior. "

Come on, I'll let you guys inside and show you around," Toris continued, "You can rest up for tonight and we'll talk about the will tomorrow."

"That sounds great," the Canadian said with a smile, "I'm beat, and I know Alfred is too. Right Al? ...Al?"

The older brother was nowhere near paying attention. His eyes were fixated on where the cat had seemed to disappear into thin air.

**A/N: I would have liked to have more in this than what there was, but I was concerned about the length. I'm aware the other chapters have been short, but I'm trying not to make this too long.**

**HNNNNNNNG.**

**Alfred's going insane in the membrane.**


	6. Chapter 5

Toris took great care to show them every room of the house. Matthew seemed fascinated by the architecture of the home, exclaiming how beautiful the archways of the entrance were. They dragged their suitcases behind them carefully so as not to scuff the hardwood floors.

The main sitting room was done in an elegant maroon (although to Alfred it just looked red). The furniture was old but well-maintained with little to no sign of extensive use.

"Amazing," Matthew commented.

Toward the back of the room was a flight of stairs that extended up to create a balcony around the entire room with hallways extending into different flights of the building. The lawyer pointed to the left of the room.

"Through there is the way to the kitchen and the dining room. You may want to go grocery shopping sometime soon, I don't know how well-stocked it is." He directed their attention to the right. "That way takes you to the west wing and the library. If you're a fan of books, your aunt kept up quite the collection. Even when she could barely see, for some reason she kept buying books."

"Did you know her well?" Matthew asked. Toris shrugged.

"I knew her well enough, I suppose. Really I was only here to work on her will and things like that; but every time I came to visit she was always the sweetest lady. I had to stay for dinner every evening because she _insisted_ I not leave her home without a proper meal," He laughed. The younger brother smiled. He was obviously enamored with the idea of the sweet old woman.

Alfred, however, was getting chills. The fact that the relative had died in the house made him picture an angry old crone who sat away her days in an old rocking chair, an evil witch who summoned ghosts. Suddenly, he felt as though the wind was knocked out of him. He turned to the stairs at the far side of the room.

There-cleaning his paws like a little gentleman-sat Iggy. His feline gaze was locked directly on the American. The blonde shuddered, reading a terrible intent behind the furry expression.

"Alfred?" Matt asked. He waved his hand in front of Alfred's face, blue eyes darkened with worry. The older brother jumped and turned to look at him.  
>"What? O-oh. Sorry Mattie. I just...uh..." He glanced back to the cat only to discover it had disappeared again.<p>

"You must be tired from your long flight," The brunette said with a kind smile. "There are bedrooms down both the right and left hallways up the stairs. I recommend the left, because two of those rooms have an amazing view of the garden."

"Thanks, Toris," Matt said with a sweet smile. "But aren't you going to be staying with us?" The lawyer shook his head.

"Unfortunately, I've got a ton of paperwork to do back at my office. Don't be afraid to call me if there's something you need, however. I understand this is kind of a big deal for you guys so I'm at your beck and call."

"You could cook dinner-" Alfred was interrupted by a flick on his nose. He snuffed and shot Matthew a glare.

"Thank you again. We'll be sure to call if we have any problems."

Toris smiled understandingly. "Alright then. I'll be back early tomorrow to discuss the rest of the will. Farewell." He did a polite bow and turned to exit the room. As the door closed behind him there was an eerie silence, broken only by the sound of a ticking grandfather clock somewhere in the mansion.

"I like this place," Stated the younger brother. Alfred looked at him like he was insane.

"It's too big and...empty. Plus that old lady died here! How freaky is that?"

Matt sighed. "You're hopeless."

"I'm serious, Mattie—this place gives me the creeps. Can't we just hole up in a hotel or something for the night?"

"Or we could stay here for free?" The long-haired blonde raised his eyebrows. "Alfred, this is basically just an empty hotel. Plus, it's so homey. Sure it'll take some getting used to—but it's only temporary right?"

"What about that cat?"

"What about it? We've seen it once today, and he didn't even come near us."

"...But...I..."

"Alfred," Matthew placed a hand on his shoulder. His eyes softened and he smiled at his brother. "Let's try to stay here tonight. You won't know you like it until you try. I'll take the room next to yours so that if anything happens I'll know it."

The older brother pouted. "I'm not six."

"Sometimes I wonder." The shorter turned and began to go up the stairs, looking around in blue-eyed wonder. "You know, whoever designed this place had great taste."

"Gay."

Matthew snorted and walked off down the hallway. His brother trotted up the stairs after him with a slight smile playing on his lips. The smaller brother opened the door to one of the bedrooms and continued down the hallway searching for another. Near the end where the corridor made a sharp turn there was a second bedroom. Matt smiled at his brother.

"See? I'm just down the hall."

Alfred grunted. "Whatever," He stepped into his own chamber and shut the door behind him.

It was a large and beautiful bedroom, done up in a deep jade green. The room itself smelled old, but not musty or of mothballs as one would expect from a horror movie. A canopy bed was to his left, with a beautiful golden fringe around the green comforter. To his front was a large window behind a burgundy chest of drawers with a small lamp on it. The American took a cautious step forward and heard it echo all around the room on hard wood. A glance down left him with the urge to put the rugs away and slide around the room in his socks and underwear.

He put that on his 'to-do' list.

A few steps in and with a flick of his wrist the small lamp lit up the room. The emerald curtains swayed gently from his sudden movement. Alfred reached over and untied the golden fastenings and made to close them. He paused, however, when his cerulean eyes caught sight of the sprawling garden beneath him. Rose bushes lined a cobblestone path in nearly every color. They blended flawlessly with tulips and pansies, creating a swirl of colors all the way to the center of the garden.

A fountain with an angel in the center stood there. The face was turned away from him, so Alfred could only identify it as such from the delicate hands that tapered off beneath the small wings sprouting from it's back. Some sort of stone design swirled up around the body of the angel itself.

_It's beautiful, isn't it Alfred? All the faeries play here during the night._

The voice whispered through his mind. It was so comforting, like a guardian speaking to their charge. Alfred closed his eyes and let it happen. It spread warmth through his body, relaxing his muscles and calming him. Much like it had in his Chevy.

"The British spell 'fairy' funny," He mused aloud. The blue-eyed man then quickly shut the curtains and changed into some suitable sleeping clothes from his suitcase. Another flick of his wrist and the small table lamp was off again and Alfred curled up under the blankets, ready to sleep away his jet leg. Alfred closed his eyes and before he knew it, was fast asleep.

The blue-eyed blonde wasn't sure just how long he'd been unconscious when he was startled awake again. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, reaching toward the small table by the bed for his glasses. He froze, however, when he heard someone speaking just outside of his room.

"Can't.. Too much put into this... Alfred..."

The man recognized that voice. It had to be the same person he'd been dreaming about. Determined to put an end to this mystery, Alfred placed the spectacles on his face and sneaked to the open door. Cerulean eyes narrowed and attempted to see the dark corridor more clearly.

"I don't plan on telling him anything if I can get away with it." The beautiful British voice said bitterly, "Although what sort of absolute prat couldn't be bothered to remember the person who practically raised the boy—Yes, he's going to be leaving. I just want to stay here until he's gone. I have some unfinished torturing to do."

Alfred frowned and leaned closer to the door. The urge to fling open the door completely and unmask the culprit was immense. That, and the desire to finally meet the owner of that voice kept him leaning forward on his toes.

"I most certainly am _not_ being a nostalgic old man! I—Good lord, I did no such thing! Minty, if you aren't going to take this seriously I'm going to have to ask you to go back."

The blonde reached for the doorknob slowly. He took in a long and silent breath before flinging the door wide open and leaping into the hall.

"Aha!" He declared, flipping on the light switch. Suddenly the narrow corridor was flooded with light. Unfortunately, his own eyes were unused to the light and Alfred was forced to squint until they adjusted.

Not that it mattered much anyway. Despite the speed at which he had moved, Alfred found himself quite alone.

**A/N: Apologies for the delay on this update. I'm currently having some health problems and have been in and out of the hospital for the past week or so.**

**Vicoden ftw. I'm Dr. House.**

**Also, you should all know that whenever I update a chapter I stalk my own inbox for your reviews.  
>I LOVE ALL OF YOU.<strong>


	7. Chapter 6

Alfred F. Jones slumped over his morning coffee like a zombie. The blonde's chin rested precariously on the palm of his hand while he stared at the steaming cup. Barely able to dress himself, we was wearing a white t-shirt that was rumpled from being packed, his brown khakis were wrinkled and slightly askew, and he couldn't seem to coordinate himself enough to put socks on his feet. Not only had he stayed up all night waiting for the strange voice to return, but when he had finally gotten to sleep he'd dreamed of the green-eyed man again. Alfred felt sure that he was slowly losing his mind. Hearing voices, seeing things... Maybe he should see a doctor.

Iggy sauntered into the kitchen, looking rather pleased with himself. No doubt the orange and white tabby had been up to some mischief. Neither of the two humans seemed to take any note of his arrival, however, so the feline satisfied himself with curling up in a corner near his food bowl and staring them down. Matt took the bait and stepped over to put some food the little dish. Iggy took one sniff and turned his nose up at it.

"Toris is going to come meet us today about the will but..." Matthew began, choosing to ignore the cat's snotty behavior, "If you're not feeling up to it I can meet him alone." He moved back to the counter where he was preparing a big breakfast of bacon and eggs. His typical breakfast of pancakes was stacked neatly in a pile on a plate next to the stove. Every so often the younger brother would wipe his hands on the red apron he had packed. A white maple leaf emblazoned the front.

"I just need sleep," The older brother groaned. His chin slipped from his hand and his head fell hard against the table. If the blonde felt it, he gave no acknowledgment.

"Is it the dreams again?" Matt queried. His brow creased in worry.

"No, I just... I couldn't get comfortable."

"I don't know how that could be. My bed was amazingly soft."

Alfred grunted.

The long-haired blonde ruffled his brother's hair. "Can you make it through the reading of the will today?"

"...Yes."

"Can you make it through _awake?_"

Alfred grunted again. Matthew sighed, a hand on his hip and concern on his face.

"Al... Why don't you just stay here? I can take care of this."

The American turned to his brother. The side of his mouth tilted downward in a frown. "It's not fair of me to ask you to do all of this on your own. You were already dealing with all of this on the phone, you and Toris worked out the flight schedules and all that junk... I don't want to be dead weight."

"Don't worry yourself too much. If you're not feeling well there's nothing that can be done about it."

"Matt, no," Alfred said, "You spent enough time taking care of me after Mom's accident."

The orange and white feline in the corner had taken an intense interest in their conversation. His head turned to and fro as though he could understand every word of their conversation. Even the cat's expressions seemed to change in accordance to certain tones the two men took. At the mention of an accident, his ears (one white, one orange) flicked forward.

Matthew put his hand on the table and looked at his brother. His blue eyes darkened into a near purple. "That has nothing to do with this. We're brothers, Al, it's our job to take care of each other. I mean, how many times have I been sick and you've taken off of work to stay home and help me? When I had the flu last year you didn't eat McDonalds for a week so you could save money to be home and get my medicine. You're not dead weight."

The older brother ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "You know how I hate sitting on the sidelines like this. Besides, we're in a completely different country. How are you going to find your way around?"

"I have a map and when I find the building I'm sure Toris could show me around from there. You can't be in the center of the action all the time, Alfred. Sometimes it's okay to stop being a hero and just let yourself recoup."

Alfred's fingers tapped the table tiredly. As much as he wanted to argue with his younger brother, he knew Matthew was right. Alfred was in no condition to be thinking critically about finances or properties.

"Okay," He finally said, "I'll stay home today. But after I've had enough sleep you'll have to take me through the city and show me around. Promise?"

His Canadian sibling smiled. "I promise. Now eat some breakfast and find somewhere to take a nap."

"Right, right." Alfred stood and made himself a hefty plate of bacon and eggs. He even stole a few of Matthew's pancakes. Sleep deprived or not, he wasn't about to starve himself too. When he returned to his seat, Matthew was making himself a plate, and Iggy seemed to get over his previous hatred of Alfred and slunk over to rub himself on the man's legs.

The American smiled tiredly down at the tabby. "Hey there little guy. You want some breakfast too?"

"I gave him food," Matt said as he took his own seat.

"You gave him crappy cat food. He needs a real breakfast." Alfred took the saucer from under his cup of coffee (real men didn't use saucers anyway) and placed some of his bacon and eggs onto it. He placed the small dish on the floor and pet the cat gently.

The cat purred and stared up at him with it's giant green eyes. The expressions on the gentle face seemed to be almost...human. Alfred stared into the feline's eyes. Everything else seemed to melt away around him until only he and the bewitching little cat were left. He was completely and utterly transfixed. Something deep inside of the man began to stir up to the surface.

"Iggy," He said softly. The cat's eyes narrowed and his demeanor changed almost immediately. A furry paw swatted Alfred's hand and Iggy apparently saw fit to dig his teeth into the fleshy palm. Alfred yelped loudly and jerked his hand back. Blood bubbled up from the wound. "Fucking cat! See if I ever pet you again!"

"It's a cat. Being bipolar is just what cats _do,_" Matt chided.

"I hate cats," Alfred growled.

Iggy huffed and took delicate nibbles of the food in his dish—fluffy tail twitching back and forth dangerously. Alfred stood and stepped away from the table.

"I'm going to go bandage this," He said.

"You do that and get a nap in. I'll call a taxi and head off to meet Toris."

"Take that stupid cat with you and leave it somewhere."

Matthew shook his head and sighed. "You used to love cats when we were kids."

Alfred was already gone from the room. Iggy stared after him for a moment before finally padding after him.

The American held his hand out in front of him carefully so as not to dribble blood on any of the expensive-looking furniture or floors. It wasn't until he was halfway up the stairs that he realized he really had no idea where to find bandages. Normally people kept them in a cabinet in the bathroom, but did the British think like Americans? He didn't see why not. After making a left into the door down the hall from his room (the only bathroom he'd found so far, and he made a mental note to learn the layout of more of the mansion later) he closed the door behind him. The room was done in a pale off-white color and was lit by a single overhead light. It was a small bathroom that only held a single shower and toilet with a sink and mirrored cabinet resting apart from them against the right wall.

He turned on the warm water and gently washed the blood from his hand, careful not to get soap in the bite. Alfred then opened up the mirrored cabinet with his left hand and searched for some sort of antiseptic or bandage. If there was one thing his mother had taught him, it was to never leave a wound uncared for. Finding nothing, he closed it again.

Only to see a pair of large green eyes staring back at him. The blonde tensed and met the intense stare in the mirror. A man was standing in the doorway. He was smaller than Alfred by several inches, with shaggy, sandy blonde hair that hung down near his chin and just over two massively thick eyebrows. Emerald green eyes were set in a round face with a pointed chin and supported by delicate cheekbones. His skin was like porcelain, pale and delicate. The blonde's lips were full and pink. His expression was set into a scowl, massive brows drawn together and eyes darkened into a deep forest green. He wore a green sweater-vest over a long sleeved white shirt. A tie was knotted neatly and tucked under his vest.

Alfred's breath caught in his chest.

_It's him._

The man that had been haunting his dreams, stalking the edges of his vision, the owner of the voice that flowed through his mind. This was the man he'd been longing for.

The American whirled around in place, eyes fixated on the door. A cry of frustration tore from his chest when he found it empty. He turned quickly to the mirror to find the reflection of the man still there. The expression on his face had transformed itself from a scowl to a look of bitter amusement. Alfred turned back to the door and his hands flew up to his head to tug on his hair. Desperate eyes cast around the open doorway for some sign of the man. Eventually they found themselves staring at the floor, and directly into the eyes of a rather fluffy purebred cat.

"You," The man breathed.

The cat apparently realized it'd been caught. It's giant emerald eyes flew wide and it bolted away at top speed. Alfred sprinted after it, bandage long forgotten. The cat skidded across the wooden floors and turned up a rug as it rounded a sharp corner, barely avoiding a collision with a table.

"Come back here!" The desperate American yelled. They made the turn into the main hall where Matthew was adjusting his suit.

"Alfred, leave the poor cat alone! Stop running all over like you own the pla—_Alfred!_" Matt sighed and rolled his eyes. "He's ridiculous sometimes, I swear."

Alfred chased the cat into the west wing. They reached another set of stairs when the cat suddenly skidded to a halt and doubled back toward Alfred. The orange ball of fur rapidly darted past him back up the stairs. The man attempted to turn with the cat and pursue it, but he feet became caught up in a rug the splayed itself down the stairs. His arms pinwheeled in an attempt to keep his balance, he grabbed onto the nearest object (a vase, incidentally), and brought it crashing down behind him. The blonde's body tilted with gravity and his legs slid out from underneath of him.

_Oh shit, oh shit, ohshitohshitshitshit!_

A body crashed hard into him, sending him flying backwards down the stairs. Instinctively his arms curled around it and held clutched it close. The force of the impact spun Alfred around so that he landed directly on top of the person that had collided with him. The American lay on top of his savior for a moment; catching his breath and waiting for his brain to catch up with what had just happened. With a low groan the strawberry blonde propped himself up on his hands and looked into the other person's face.

It was his green-eyed beauty. Unconscious, but breathing, and very much solid beneath him.


	8. Chapter 7

Alfred stared down at the angelic—albeit unconscious—face beneath him. This was it. This was the man he'd been looking for. Tentatively the blue-eyed American brushed his hand against the other man's alabaster cheek. The smaller blonde's long eyelashes fluttered ever-so-slightly. Brilliant green eyes opening slowly to stare up at him. Alfred felt his face grow hot. The perfect pink lips parted slightly, and a voice like music rose from them.

"Get off of me, you fat lump of useless waste," The Brit growled. His large eyebrows scrunched together in a scowl. A very attractive scowl.

"Uh... What?" Alfred responded rather eloquently.

"Get. _Off_!" The smaller man yanked his arm free from under the American and decked him right in his jaw. The blue eyed man jerked upwards and back with the force of it, hand flying to his injured face.

"Ow! What the hell, man?" Alfred exclaimed, "You're the one who came out of fucking nowhere and slammed into me!"

"I saved your life, you twat!" The man with the large eyebrows yelled. He climbed to his feet; Alfred following his example.

"By knocking me out of the stratosphere? Yeah, _great_ plan that was. Besides, I wouldn't have even fallen if it wasn't for that stupid cat!"

"How dare you—you were chasing me! Be grateful I stopped you from breaking your moronic little neck!" Unbeknownst to the two men, their voices began getting louder and louder until they were shouting.

"Alfred? Is everything alright?" Matthew's voice echoed faintly into the room. The bickering men paid it no heed.

"I didn't even _see_ you!"

"The hell you didn't, blundering through this house after me like some sort of stupid ox! Yelling at the top of your lungs! Didn't anyone teach you manners?"

"Listen, you! I think I would remember someone with eyebrows like that!"

The Brit's eyes went wide and he went to take another swing at the blonde American. Alfred grabbed his slender arm and yanked him close, using the force of his pull to turn the man away from him. Effectively the arm was trapped behind the Englishman and useless. His body was pressed flush against Alfred. It was strange how even in the middle of their argument Alfred couldn't help but be attracted to the man.

_God, he smells nice._

"Release me at once!" The green-eyed man yelled.

"You just tried to hit me!"

"You deserved it for being an ass!"

"Alfred?" Matt stood at the top of the stairs, a confused look decorating his face. "What's going on here—_Oh_ my God what did you do to this vase?" He exclaimed. Quickly the long-haired blonde knelt to pick up the shattered pieces. The Brit sucked in a breath and suddenly became very still and silent. Alfred was thankful for small miracles.

"It's that cat! I was chasing it and it tripped me! Then this guy comes out of the blue and just pulverizes me!"

Matt looked up at his brother. "What guy? Where did he go?"

"This guy right here!" Alfred shook the man a little. "He's a real dick too."

"Alfred, what are you talking about?"

"Well, he's being quiet now. Making me look like an _ass_, by the way." The American shot a glare at his captive. Said prisoner snorted with derision.

"Like you need my help to look like an ass," He murmured.

"Oh it's so on. I'm going to beat the holy hell out of you-" He'd expected a smart ass retort, but instead the strange little man got an extremely smug look on his face.

Matthew stepped slowly down the stairway to his brother. "There's no one else here... You're standing by yourself." Alfred stared blankly at him.

"What are you talking about? He's right here."

"There's no one there. Alfred, look," Matthew fished around in his pocket until he found his cellphone. He pulled it out and snapped a quick photo of Alfred. Then the Canadian stepped over to his brother and allowed him to see the picture he had taken.

The American ogled in wonder at the image of himself. Surely enough, he stood alone and in an extremely awkward position. A glance down at Arthur told him what all of his senses seemed to know. The man had to be real, there was absolutely no way his brain could cook up something so _perfect_.

"Maybe you should go lay down," Matthew said calmly. "Get some sleep. I'll call off the meeting with Toris." There seemed to be an unspoken suggestion of getting medical help.

Alfred gave a nervous little laugh. "There's no need for that, Mattie. You're totally right, there's no one here. I was just messing with your head." He released the smaller blonde from his hold but maintained a firm grasp on his wrist. The stranger shot him a rather miffed look. "Totally awesome joke, right?" The younger brother seemed unimpressed with his explanation. Still, he knew Alfred wouldn't be stupid enough to put off a real problem. He trusted his brother's judgment, despite his seemingly lacking grip on reality.

"Are you sure? I mean... This wouldn't be the first time-" Matt began.

"No, no. I'm totally fine. Besides, that was years ago, dude." Alfred gave him a cheery grin before walking away. He made very sure to drag the Englishman with him while seeming nonchalant. The American could practically feel his brother's worried stare burning into his back. As much as he regretted making Matthew worry he was far more concerned with the matter of his own sanity.

Once Matthew was out of earshot, the Brit questioned: "What did he mean?" Alfred's jaw clenched. It was still a little sore from where the strange man had punched him.

"I really don't think you're in a place to be asking questions."

"Not in a place to ask questions? Do you have any idea who you're talking to?" The smaller man scoffed. Alfred dropped his hand and turned on him.

"No! I don't! I don't have any freakin' clue who you are! I _wish_ I knew, really, I do. Maybe then I'd know why I can't get you off my mind. Everything I do, you're...you're _there!_ When I sleep, I dream about you, when I'm by myself, I hear your voice, I... I can't..." His cerulean eyes became watery. Before the Englishman had a chance to see how upset he was, Alfred covered his face with his hand. "I think I'm losing my mind. Mattie can't... He can't see you. But I can. I can touch you, I can smell you, I can hear you. How is this possible? Are you really just some hallucination?"

"My name is Arthur Kirkland," The stranger said, his voice soft, "And I promise you, I am very much a reality."

Matthew worried over his brother every moment since breakfast that morning. The event in the west wing had him playing with his hair curl and chewing on his lip from the moment he left the house in a taxi until he arrived at Toris' office. When he walked inside, the young man had to put a hand over his mouth to stop his lip from bleeding. It was an old habit that he'd never truly grown out of. Alfred used to smack him every time he'd catch Matt doing it.

Toris greeted him in a friendly manner and they exchanged pleasantries. He was invited to take a seat, and did so. It was a quaint little office, done up in relaxing tones, and with the curtains pulled slightly to give a calming effect to the light. The room was sparsely decorated with a bookcase in the far back by the windows, two comfortable looking chairs (one of which Matthew found himself in) on opposites sides of a large oak desk, and an old-looking lamp to the right of the room. A few pictures of landscapes graced the walls. The Lithuanian folded his hands over the desk.

"Did you settle into the house alright?" He asked.

"Yes," Matt said softly, "I apologize for Alfred not being here, the trip's been rough on him."

"Is he feeling alright?"

"He's just exhausted. Before we left his job was really pressing him for new designs."

"Oh," The brunette said with genuine interest, "I don't believe I ever asked you what you two do as an occupation."

"We work in videogames. Alfred does character designs; he basically gets to 'create' the hero. I'm a programmer."

"Do you two enjoy your jobs?"

"I like it alright and I know Alfred _adores_ it. When we were kids he wanted to make comic books, but the videogame industry was just more lucrative."

Toris smiled. "I hope he feels better. I'll need him to sign off on some stuff later... Considering your aunt left almost everything to him." Matthew stared in disbelief.

"What?"

"Mhm," Toris shuffled through a few papers. "She mentions him specifically by name: 'I, Emilia Constance Jones hereby leave my estate and all that it entails to my nephew Alfred F. Jones to do with as he sees fit.' She then proceeds to leave a portion of her finances to you, as well as one of the cars. But most of this is to go to Alfred."

"But we didn't even know her!" Matt exclaimed. "How could she possibly know both of us by name?"

"Well, that's the thing. I was going through the files again earlier and I found... This." Toris opened one of his desk drawers and pulled out a small photo. He placed it on the desk and slid it over to Matthew. The young man picked it up and his blue eyes widened in shock.

In his hand he held a single photograph of a small boy. A small boy that looked oddly like Alfred, curled up on a sofa and peacefully asleep, an orange and white furball curled up on top of him.

"This... This is Alfred," Matthew whispered. "But how? He...I... Oh, my God..."

"Are you sure Alfred's never been to England before?" Toris asked quietly.

The blonde swallowed hard. "Now? No. But I can't tell him about this. It would kill him."

"I... Don't understand."

"There was an accident about twelve years ago," Matthew began, his voice quiet and his eyes cast downward at the photo. "Mom was taking Alfred somewhere to watch the fireworks for his birthday, and some guy ran a red light at an intersection. He was speeding and hit them with so much force it flipped the car. They said the impact killed her instantly, but Alfred swears to this day that she was the one who unbuckled him to help him get free. He... He suffered serious head trauma and was in a coma for almost six moths. We didn't even know if he was going to make it." His hands tightened in his lap as he remembered the trying time. The Canadian's voice cracked a little as he continued,

"He finally woke up one day and when he did... He couldn't remember his own name. Alfred certainly didn't know who I as. Occasionally he'd get our names mixed up and call me 'Alfred'. Most of the time he had to keep asking me who I was. My own brother. Eventually he began to remember little bits of things, but if we tried to bring up a memory he'd freak out. Panic attacks, massive migraines, he'd start screaming and he wouldn't stop, I..."

"It's alright Matthew, you don't have to tell me more if you don't want to," Toris soothed.

"You deserve to know. You've been so kind to us I... After a while Alfred just began to remember things naturally. We thought he'd recalled everything."

"So if we were to tell him about this picture, or..."

"There's no telling what could happen. The shock of it might send him into another coma. I... I don't want to lose my brother again."

Toris stared at the Canadian for a little while before calmly saying, "You know, we can do this sometime later this week. You guys just got here, you should be able to relax from your trip without me pushing all of this nonsense paperwork on you," He laughed softly.

"A-are you sure?" Matthew asked.

"Absolutely. Enjoy your stay here for a little while and unwind. There's a wonderful little cafe down the block from here that I think you'd enjoy. Your cab ride back home is absolutely on me."

Matt smiled. "Thank you, really. I... I don't know how we can ever repay you for this." Toris waved him off.

"Don't worry about it. I'll set up another meeting you next week. Hopefully by then you and Alfred will be feeling well enough to both be here in person." He extended his hand toward the young Canadian. Tentatively Matthew grasped it and they shook hands.

"Thank you, so much," The young blonde said again.


	9. Chapter 8

The two men stood in Alfred's room after the American half-dragged, half attempted to murder Arthur to a more private location for them to speak. No doubt he didn't want his brother thinking he'd absolutely lost his mind anymore than was necessary. Blue and green eyes stared directly into each other.

"Arthur Kirkland..." Alfred murmured. Said man gave him a strange look.

"Yes, Arthur Kirkland. You act like you've never heard it before."

"I... Haven't. But, whatever," The young man's smile brightened and he extended his open palm. "I'm Alfred Jones. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"I know who you are-" Alfred snatched up the smaller man's hand and shook it vigorously. The green-eyed man could only stare while his whole body seemed to shake. "What the _hell_ are you doing?" He questioned.

"Shaking your hand. Do British people not do that?" The taller man was becoming less a 'disgruntled psycho' and more 'excited puppy' with every second that ticked by. Arthur was forced to wonder for a moment if perhaps the lad was insane after all.

"I don't have a clue, I-"

"How can you not know? You have a British accent. Or are you just like, a hermit and live in this house all the time? Do you watch over it? Are you like a caretaker or something? Must get stuffy."

"Well, I-"

"Actually, come to think of it, why is it Matthew couldn't see you? What kind of hallucination only lives in a single house?"

"Alfred-"

"Is it some kind of alien technology? I read about aliens a lot and that would be _so cool_ if you were an alien." His face lit up like the fourth of July. "_Oh my God you're an alien!_"

"Will you _stop talking_ for ten goddamn seconds and let me finish a sentence?"

"But I-" Arthur slapped a hand over the American's mouth.

"Shut up. Right now."

Alfred was silent, but his big blue eyes were still glittering with excitement behind his glasses. The other man's very large eyebrows twitched in irritation. Slowly, he moved his hand away and brought it back to his side.

"Now, take a good, long look at me. What am I?"

"An a-"

"Say 'alien' one more time and I will punch you. Again. That obsession you have with them is completely unhealthy; even when you were a child it was 'UFO' this and 'extra-terrestrial' that. Took me three damn weeks to convince you I wasn't—oh bloody hell. I'm not an alien, stop _looking_ at me like that!"

"But you have to be an alien. It's that, or I'm crazy; and I am _not_ crazy."

"Yes, well, let's not reject that idea yet, alright?" Arthur crossed his arms and paced around the American, a slight frown on his face. "You really don't remember me, do you?" He seemed unable to grasp the idea.

"Uh...No. That typically happens when you've barely even met someone."

They stared at each other for a long moment, and to Alfred the rest of the world seemed to disappear around them. Those brilliant green orbs seemed to catch the light and turn it into something even more beautiful. He briefly recalled a passage in the Wizard of Oz, where the group of heroes was forced to wear special goggles to protect them from the intense beauty of the great Emerald City. Alfred couldn't imagine hiding his eyes away from the sparkling utopia. Even at the risk of going blind.

Arthur, conversely, was looking everywhere except into Alfred's eyes. His brilliant gaze seemed to travel over the American from head to foot—and from the slight flush that was developing on his cheeks, he liked what he saw. Alfred's face stretched into a goofy grin. It didn't go without notice and immediately the Englishman's cheeks darkened even more. The man seemed to suddenly become fascinated with one of the portraits on the wall.

"What about the cat?" Arthur asked.

"That fucking monster?"

"Excuse me," Arthur exclaimed. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. Dark eyebrows knit together angrily. "I am no monster! Besides, that form is a purebred Scottish Fold! I had to stare at that stupid storybook of yours for hours to get it right!"

"Wait—you? You're the cat?" Alfred snapped his fingers. "That's it! Your reflection in the mirror! That explains so much, but I—_Hey!_ Why did you bite me?"

"You called me that ridiculous nickname."

"Iggy?"

"Don't speak that abomination in my presence!"

"I thought that was your _name!_ That bite fucking hurt!"

"Oh boo-hoo. You're a big lad, get over it," Arthur replied, flatly unsympathetic.

"I-" Alfred held up his injured palm. "I bled!"

"Do cry me a river. Besides, at the time I was far more concerned with getting the taste out of my mouth."

"But look at it! What if it gets infected? I couldn't find any damn bandages in this place—what if you have some freaky alien disease? And hey! Hey. I taste delicious."

"I am not—dear lord if it will shut you up, give me your hand," Arthur extended a slender palm. Alfred placed his hand palm-upwards onto the grumpy Brit's. Green eyes shimmered with a strange light as he placed his other hand on top of the American's. A tingle ran up the taller man's arm, and spread throughout his body. Delicious warmth sank into the bones of his hand ; a shudder ran throughout him.

"There," Arthur concluded with a release of his hand. The American almost whined at the loss. He couldn't imagine the blow to his dignity it would have been if he'd actually done that in front of this attractive man.

"Well go on, if it was bad enough for you to keep bitching about it you might as well have a look."

Alfred held his hand close to his face. The flesh on his palm had completely healed itself. The only trace of the bite left was a thin, pale line that he had to squint to see.

"Amazing..." His blue gaze returned to the smaller man and his hand lowered. "How?" The Brit's green eyes glinted with an I-know-much-more-than-I'm-ever-going-to-tell-you-and-I-want-you-to-beg-for-what-you're-going-to-get look.

"You always did love playing superhero. Finding the bad guy and figuring out the mysteries to save the damsel," The small man said with a grin. "Consider this a challenge."

Alfred seemed to consider this. "If I guess right, will you tell me?"

"Of course. Wouldn't be a fair game otherwise, now would it? Not like you'll _ever_ get it."

"Oh it's so on. But Artie—"

"Arthur," He corrected.

"Artie."

"I will end you."

"Whatever. Tell me Artie-"

"Arthur."

"-are you going to stick around while I try to figure this out?" Alfred flashed him his most winning grin. The Brit rolled his eyes.

"If only to tell you you're wrong, yes."

"Will you show yourself to Matthew? Prove I'm not insane?" The pleading look on his face was almost more than Arthur could handle. His slender shoulders relaxed and his eyes softened.

"I will. But just once."

"Awesome. And Artie?"

"Arthur."

"Whatever. Are you the bad guy... Or the damsel?"

"Dear God, I regret this already."

"Do I get a hint?" Alfred asked. The smaller man seemed to ponder this for a moment. He moved to sit on Alfred's bed, crossing one slender leg over another and with an almost regal posture.

"But that would be cheating."

"You've got to be kidding me. After all the crap I've gone through lately, you can't give me a single hint?" Alfred paused for a moment. "What about a game of twenty questions?"

"A what?" Arthur raised an eyebrow.

"I ask you details about what you are, and you tell me if I'm getting close or not."

The smaller blonde considered this. "I suppose, but... _ten_ questions, and for every one you ask me I get to ask you one as well." The look in his eyes told the American that he was walking into a trap. For some reason Alfred couldn't bring himself to care.

"Deal," He sat himself next to the Bit. "How old are you?"

"Roughly four hundred. To be honest I stopped counting some decades ago."

"You've got to be messing with me. How is that even possible-"

"I haven't had my turn, you know," Arthur interrupted coolly. Alfred closed his mouth in frustration and waited. This game was obviously going to be on Arthur's terms or no terms at all.

"What did you mean when you said you've been dreaming of me?" The smaller man asked.

"It... It started a few months ago. I began dreaming of you. Bits of you, I mean." His face flushed as he realized the alternate meaning that could be read from his statement. "I—stuff like your eyes, your hair, your face in...general." He scratched his cheek. "I would dream of you once a week, but then it started getting more frequent. Like, every night. It started waking me up too. I don't think I've had a sound sleep in... God, I can't even remember now."

Arthur was clearly attempting to keep an expressionless face. However, the way his eyes widened ever so slightly and the downward turn of his lips said exactly what he was feeling. Guilt.

"So you _have _ remembered me. It's just...buried," Arthur murmured.

"What... Do you mean? You keep saying I should remember you, but I've never even been to England before now. Did we meet in America or-" He stopped speaking when Arthur placed hands on either side of his face. The man's eyes took on the same odd glow they had when he'd healed the bite on Alfred's hand. Then, it was like Alfred could feel him inside of his own brain. Arthur's presence was everywhere in his mind... And he found he didn't quite care. It was almost soothing.

"Now let's see what exactly made you forget me," The sandy blonde whispered. "Honestly, it's an insult. I spent so much of my summers raising your stupid ass instead of running my government." The Brit was sifting through his memories, pushing farther and farther back. A dull ache began at the base of Alfred's skull.

"Arthur. Stop," Alfred's voice was quiet. So much quieter than he wanted.

"Just a moment, I can fix this."

The pain was getting worse, and his chest was beginning to lock up as images he hadn't seen in so long surged forward. Him, as a child, chatting away to his mother about how excited he was to see his Arthur. His gentle, loving, invisible Arthur.

Pain struck through his core. He couldn't breathe as waves of nausea rolled through him.

"Stop. Arthur, _STOP!_" He shouted. His hands shot forward of their own desire and shoved the Englishman away from him. Arthur nearly fell off of the bed, but managed to catch himself at the last moment. His presence fled from Alfred's mind.

Alfred was shaking violently and gasping for air he couldn't seem to get. Then Arthur's hands were back again, but they were stroking his face gently.

"Hush, hush. It's all okay, calm down," The smaller man soothed. He pulled Alfred into a warm embrace and held him there, stroking his hair. The American clung to Arthur's sweater vest while his body started to relax.

"Shhh... You're alright... I'm here, don't worry love."

After a few moments (seconds, minutes, neither was really counting) Alfred managed to calm down enough to find his voice.

"Arthur?"

"Yes?" He was threading his finger's through Alfred's hair. It was delightfully silky and smooth.

"... Why are you holding me?"

If Alfred could have seen the Brit's face, he would have gotten a laugh at the amount of color that rushed to his cheeks."You... I think you had a panic attack."

"I get that... But why are you holding me?"

Arthur promptly shoved the well muscled (not that he noticed, mind you) American away from him. His face was flaming red.

"What? I can't help you out without being questioned?"

"Nah, it's cool. I knew you thought I was hot."

"I, bu-" Arthur sputtered, blushing harder by the second, "I most certainly am _not_! I practically raised you! Besides, who could possibly be attracted to such an idiotic, egotistical, obnoxious, ass like yourself?"

"Apparently you," Alfred replied with a grin.

He was promptly punched in the face for the second time that day.  
>xxxxxxxxxxxx<p>

Matthew mulled over their current situation while he nibbled on the straw of his drink. Toris had been right, the cafe was a very nice place to eat. The interior décor had been done up to give the place a nice family-style feel. It was evident that most of the people here were frequent customers. Half the staff seemed to know everyone by name. The food was amazing. Prepared with care, he'd purposefully eaten slower to enjoy every bit of it. Strange, he'd always heard horrible things about British food. It was a great experience, and the big window Matthew had seated himself by seemed to make everything better. Sunlight filtered in and warmed his face. Overall, he felt pretty great at that moment.

Except for the fact that his brother was seeing invisible people—and the fact that that same brother had been to England before and couldn't remember it. Matthew wondered just how much of his life his brother was missing.

"_Bonjour, ma fleur belle petite,"_ Someone said. Matthew's contentment fled from him as the color rose in his face. He stuttered for a moment before remembering his second language.

"I'm hardly a flower," He replied in French. It took him a moment to piece together forgotten lessons. Alfred always hated it when he'd ramble off in some other language; the young Canadian was much out of practice. Matthew turned to face the man taking to him, only to meet the blue eyes of the man in the white suit from the airport.

He nearly choked on his own spit.

"You speak French?" The man purred in thickly-accented English. "I knew there was a reason I found you so irresistible. Apart from your stunning good looks, of course. And my, my, aren't you just beautiful..." His hand caressed the Canadian's jaw and tilted his chin up to look at him. "You have the features of an angel."

Matthew's face reddened even more. He stood quickly and pushed in his chair.

"I—I apologize for being rude, but I really must be going." He brushed past the Frenchman and paid for his meal, fumbling with the money and stammering out his thanks and compliments for the meal. To his dismay the man seemed intent on keeping a conversation going. Matthew turned to leave and bumped right into the golden-haired flirt.

"Surely you cannot be leaving so soon?" The man asked with a coy smile.

"Well, I finished eating... So... Um... Yeah." He shoved his change in his pocket and made a point of staring at his shoes. The Canadian's ears were practically glowing red. It wasn't that he didn't like the attention, and it wasn't that he had anything against the man himself, but Matthew had always had trouble dealing with compliments and relationships. It was what he considered to be one of his largest flaws. The moment someone began to flirt with him, he became nervous and had the terrible urge to just... Run away.

Come to think of it, that was probably why he'd never really had a relationship. That, and he wasn't really outspoken or particularly noticeable.

"I cannot let such a rare beauty leave without learning his name, now can I?"

" I—I'm Matthew. Matthew Williams."

"Ah, _mon Matthieu. Je m'appelle Francis Bonnefoy._"

"It's a pleasure, really. I have to go," Matthew inched around the well-dressed man (seriously he was wearing another suit. Who dresses like that for everyday excursions?).

"Perhaps we could meet again somewhere? I could buy you a nice dinner?" Francis purred. He leaned down to the Canadian and whispered low in his ear. "Then perhaps after..." He allowed the sentence to rail off as his lips brushed against the shell of Matt's ear.

"N—No thank you!" The young man shoved the Frenchman away and scurried out the door, convinced his embarrassment was going to make him explode. As he exited, a Spaniard across the restaurant was filming the moment with his mobile phone.

"Francis getting rejected? Gilbert's going to _love_ this."

**A/N: PROGRESS. Lol, what's that?**

**Perv France is perv. I fucking love the Bad Touch Trio. Especially Spain. He's such a sexy beast I don't even...  
>Also, I realized that my section separators were not appearing on the final copy. I fixed that and replaced them with the 'x'. I apologize for any confusion the error may have caused you lovely people.<strong>

**I also apologize for any errors in the French. I do not speak it. I took a class for it once, but our teacher didn't even speak it so uh... Yeah. I didn't learn much except how to make crepes (which are fucking delicious) and french toast.**

**Thank you all so much for your beautiful reviews! BUT THEY ARE NOT ENOUGH. THE HORDE DEMANDS MORE.**


	10. Chapter 9

The blush hadn't quite worn off when Matthew returned to the estate. He walked through the door with a sigh, kicked his shoes off by the door, and placed his suit jacket on the coat hanger with care. The young man then ran a hand through his hair and mussed it up a little. The bag of McDonalds he held at his side bumped against his leg.

"Alfred?" Matt called out, "Al, are you awake? I've brought you something to eat!" Still receiving no response, the Canadian grabbed the phone in his pocket and dialed Alfred's number. It rang twice before his brother's awkwardly cheerful voice answered.

_"Yo, Mattie! 'Sup?"_

"Oh, good you're awake. I just walked in the door and I've brought you some McDonalds."

_"They have Mickey D's in England?"_

"They have them all over the world."

_"Right. Yeah. So um—how'd your talk with Toris go?" _Alfred's voice became faint for a moment and Matthew had to strain to understand what he was saying.

_ "It's called a cell phone. You use it to talk to people who are far away. No, really. I'm talking to Matt right now. Hold on, I'll prove it," _ He became clear again,_ "Hey, dude, sorry to interrupt before you even said anything, but can you say hello for me real quick?"_

"Um... Hello? And my talk with Toris went fine. Apparently there are some cars around here that have been given to us to use. We'll have to look in the garage later, and he said we'll talk about the rest of the will once we've had time to settle in and relax."

_"Oh! That was really cool of him. When I see him next time, remind me to thank him."_

"I will. Alfred, where are you?"

_"I'm in the kitchen."_

"Alright, I'll be in there in just a second," Matthew hung up his phone and placed it back into his pocket. He made his way toward his brother's location and once again his mind clouded over with worry. There was an off chance that perhaps Alfred's brain was merely using these imaginary people as an outlet to repair itself. A way to bring forth memories so that they could be recalled without causing Alfred any pain or distress.

He hoped that was the case as he rounded into the kitchen... And found Alfred staring dumbfounded at the little orange and white cat. Iggy had managed to get himself on top of the table and was curled up smugly staring back at Alfred. The look on his older brother's face made it seem as though the Scottish Fold had suddenly sprouted wings and flown around the room.

"Al...fred...?" Matthew questioned tentatively. The American seemed to snap out of whatever sort of trance he was in.

"Oh. Matt. Hey," Alfred responded. It was almost as though he'd forgotten Matthew existed for a moment. With a sigh, Matt placed the bag of fast food on the table.

"I picked you up two Big Macs and a large order of fries. Tomorrow we'll have to run by a grocery store to pick up some stuff since it seems like we're gonna be here a while and I—Alfred?"

Alfred snapped to attention again. "Sorry, what?"

"This morning you were ranting about how much you hated that cat.; now you can't keep your eyes off of it. What's up with that?"

"...Iggy and I had a nice talk today."

The cat huffed indignantly.

"Oh don't be like that. You're a cat, that's your cat name."

Iggy seemed to disagree with this opinion. He huffed again and stood, casually shaking himself before leaping off the table and sauntering out of the room.

"Prick," Alfred said.

The Canadian could only stare. His theory about his brother's mind attempting to repair itself had taken a blow. First seeing people, now he was talking to cats? Or perhaps this whole ordeal hadn't started with the hallucinations. Perhaps it started with those dreams.

Alfred seemed to return to himself after a moment and snatched up the bag of food. "Did you remember to get me a Coke?"

"Yes, I remembered."

"Awesome, bro. You are the greatest sibling in the world. Have I told you that?" He practically ripped into the bag and immediately began chowing down on the burgers. One would wonder if he actually chewed or had some sort of hamburger-breathing super power.

"It wouldn't hurt to say it more often," Matthew laughed.

"Mmmff hrnnf grnn! Glrbng hngufun shn." Little bits of food went flying across the table at his attempt to speak. The younger brother could only sigh and shake his head.

"Chew, swallow, then talk."

Alfred swallowed a huge chunk of burger, then slurped heavily on his soda. He leaned back in his chair and patted his stomach in satisfaction.

"I said, you are truly the greatest brother in all of creation. I am humbled to call you my own."

"Nah. I just like the idea of being the thin brother."

"Psh! Not even. I'm going to go jogging after I finish these fries. Gotta work hard to keep this body in such _fine_ shape."

"... Yeah, that's the word I would use," Matthew's voice was thick with sarcasm. However, Alfred—ever unable to read the atmosphere—missed it completely.

"Well, duh. It's the word I used. Seriously Mattie, get your own ideas."

"Alfred I was—never mind. I'm going to take a shower and try the library for a few books. Don't get lost on your jog, alright?"

"Sure thang," A tiny bit of his old Texan accent leaked through. Matt was tempted to point it out to him, but decided to leave it be. He strode over to his brother and ruffled his hair.

"I'll see you later." The Canadian left his brother to his extremely unhealthy meal.

Alfred promptly devoured the rest of his fries and chugged his Coke. He stuffed everything into the bag and shot it like a basketball into the garbage bin. With a good stretch to help the food settle in his stomach, Alfred trotted through the dining corridor and back up the stairs to his room, where he changed into his favorite jogging gear. A gray t-shirt with a pocket in the front, and tan cargo shorts with plenty of places for him to stash a small bottle of water. The young man clipped his ipod to his shirt pocket and placed the headphones in his ears. Once he had his shoes changed (he adored his Converse, but they didn't exactly give the kind of support he wanted for exercise) he left his room. The door shut behind him with a soft _click_.

"Matt, I'm headed out for a run!" Alfred called. He waited a moment for a response. Receiving none, he shrugged his shoulders and trotted happily down the stairs, through the sitting room, and out the front door of the estate. After another stretch on the doorstep, an idea struck him.

"Hey, Arthur!" He called.

As if on cue, a cat appeared in the distance, walking slowly around the house.

"I'm going for a run. You wanna come with?" Under normal circumstances he would have felt ridiculous talking to a cat. However, after Arthur's little display in the kitchen he really couldn't bring himself to doubt that the tabby really was the grumpy Brit.

Especially when the cat snorted and turned right back around to disappear around the house—as if to say that sweating was beneath him. Alfred grinned.

"Just so you know, the moment I get back I'm going to start trying to figure out what you are!" He yelled after him. He then turned on his ipod with a flick of his thumb and heme music from "Rocky" began to blare into his ears. Alfred began his long run.

The American already had an idea of how he was going to be going about his research. Tonight he would search through the house for some record of Arthur, to see if he could turn up any documents or photos featuring the mysterious man. Of course, as to where to begin his search he had no idea. During the small tour of the house, Toris hadn't exactly pointed to a desk and said, 'Oh, by the way there are lots of secret things about a mysterious man right over there'.

Alfred rounded the side of the house and picked up speed as he raced toward the stone wall of the garden. To the far left near the edge of the house was a small wooden gate he could use to enter. But really, what fun would that be? So upon reaching the barrier he grabbed the top of it and vaulted himself over, his foot catching on the wall rather ungracefully and throwing off his trajectory.

Instead of landing gracefully in a crouching position, the American found himself flat on his face with a mouth full of dirt.

Alfred coughed and sputtered, spitting a clump of mud back to the ground. This was definitely not his proudest moment; and he was rather glad that Arthur had decided not to come on this little adventure. The strawberry blonde could practically _feel_ the Brit's smug laughter. After that thought, blood rushed up to his cheeks. Oh, God. Arthur couldn't see this, could he? Alfred glanced around quickly, scanning for any sign of the sneaky little cat. There was no visible trace, but that did little to calm his embarrassment—after all, he had no proof that Arthur couldn't assume other forms as well. The man could be anything at any time.

The American stood, dusted himself off, and realized his ipod was no longer in his pocket. It had probably fallen out while he was hitting the ground with his face. Alfred cast around for it, getting back down on his knees and checking underneath the rose bushes. He combed gently through a bed of lilies while scanning the fertile soil. Still nothing.

Alfred climbed back to his feet and placed his hands on his hips. Surely it couldn't have flown too far. He moved along the cobblestone path while searching the flowerbeds extensively. Maybe he could ask Arthur to help him find it? If the grumpy man could turn into a cat, surely he could sniff out the little musical device. Ah, but that would mean admitting his stupidity. The American balked at the idea of letting Arthur know the kind of ridiculousness he allowed himself to get up to. Alfred would gladly take his pride over his music any day.

To his right, a clear-and well maintained-stone path all the way to a large circular fountain set right in the center of the garden. Cerulean eyes traveled up the base and stopped at the angel standing in the center. The world seemed to come to a complete standstill.

Slender marble legs tapered off to a beautifully curved waist that was _just_ hidden by the stone tunic that slid down to cover the tops of the angel's thighs. The garment hung loosely on the angel's shoulders, sliding down one of his arms ever-so-slightly. The arms themselves ended in delicate hands, with fine fingers. The right arm was extended outward, away from the body, gesturing as if in an open invitation to take his hand. The left was turned upward by the face; furthering the impression of a mischievous cherub bidding some lucky soul to come away with him on a strange journey. The face looked remarkably like Arthur's.

Alfred walked slowly toward the fountain, eyes widening. It was definitely Arthur, but there was something... Sad about this image. The delicate lips tapered upwards in a smile; but the joy seemed to die when he met the statue's eyes.

They were large and sorrowful, half-lidded and with the brows pulled ever so slightly together. It created an image of longing; of pain and sorrow. The statue was worn after being outside in the weather for so long. The aged appearance seemed only to add futility the orrow of the smiling angel. It was simultaneously the saddest and most beautiful thing Alfred had ever seen.

It also made him very, very hard. The strange designs he had seen around the statue were carved waves of water, and the liquid for the fountain bubbled up from them to flow down the legs of the angel. It seemed as though they were caressing his body, and the detail on the statue of Arthur itself made it seem all the more sensuous.

Alfred swallowed thickly. His run was most definitely over. There was no way he was going to make it four miles with a raging hard-on. Unless he could somehow make it go away. The young man's mind raced with hundreds of different images in order to calm his libido. Turning away from the statue seemed to help him some.

An image of Matthew naked settled in his brain. Alfred physically recoiled, shuddering and shaking his hands as he then tried to force the image from his brain again.

"Oh, gross, gross, gross!" He sputtered. Erection thoroughly killed, Alfred resumed his sprint through the rest of the garden, disregarding his ipod and making a mental note to search for it later. Or perhaps he could ask Arthur to take a look around for him. This time he didn't even make the attempt to jump the wall, choosing instead to take the time to open the aged wooden gate and trot through it. As he ran, he wondered about the statue and the garden itself.

There was something strange about the place. All of the flowers and pathways seemed to have been designed in a labyrinth around the fountain. He also noted the distinct lack of anything metal everywhere around the area. Then there was the fountain itself. The people who made it surely couldn't have created something that looked _so much_ like the strange man without having some sort of reference.

Unless the statue came first, which was practically impossible. How old had Arthur said he was? Four hundred something? The fountain didn't look nearly that old. A decade or two at best, but certainly no more than that.

Alfred's feet found a nearly grown-over dirt path that led back into the forest behind the house. The young man's mind, however, was in a completely different place. He kept running, sweat beginning to gather on the surface of his skin. The branches in the trees above him began to close up to create a solid and leafy canopy, effectively blocking out the afternoon sun. The air became thicker and more humid, and sweat began to pour from his brow and down his body in thick rivulets. Eventually, he gave up trying to ponder over the mysteries of this place. Instead he turned to watching the unfamiliar scenery roll by.

At least, it should have been unfamiliar. Alfred found with a growing awe that his feet seemed to have memorized this path. Instinctively, he knew when to take a larger step to avoid a stray root sticking up from the ground, to take a sharper turn than the others to avoid a particularly nasty batch of poison ivy, and how to turn his foot so that he didn't trip over a rather large rock. Alfred began to think he could run this trail with his eyes closed.

He slowed himself and stopped against a tree, breathing heavily. The American tugged on his shirt to get some air flow and cool him more effectively. Then, he reached into one of his cargo pockets and pulled out a small bottle of water. A quick flick of his wrist and the bottle was open. Alfred drank slowly and languidly, savoring the taste. He let out a pleased sigh and tilted his head back against the oak tree.

A twig snapped to his left, and he tilted a curious head in it's direction. A glance up for safety was necessary; because if whatever made that sound was a squirrel, he certainly didn't want any stray nuts dropping on his head. Another sound drew his attention back in the other direction. It didn't sound like a squirrel anymore. Whatever this was, it was much larger.

Alfred stilled and carefully tucked the water bottle back into his pocket. Cerulean blue eyes scanned the thick foliage for signs of life. As they searched, more noise came from the same direction. Alfred pushed himself away from the tree.

"Hello?" He called. Common sense told him it was probably just a raccoon or a deer. The sinking feeling in his gut, however, kept him from relaxing. The sounds of shifting foliage became louder as whatever it was approached. Alfred tensed as a shape emerged from the thick brush.

A large black dog padded out to Alfred, tongue lolling out of its mouth and tail wagging happily behind him. The man relaxed immensely and knelt down. He extended his palm out to the canine, who in return licked his hand in a friendly manner.

"Well, hey there buddy," Alfred cooed. The dog's tail quickened it's pace. "What are you doin' in a place like this? Boy, you're a fluffy fella, huh? You got a name?" He scratched the dog behind the ears. The black beast's tail seemed to tear into the foliage with it's rapid beat. The young man scratched around the dog's neck, searching through the profuse fur for some kind of collar or identification. He smiled kindly and looked into it's deep amber eyes.

The dog whined at him and lifted a foot. It put pressure back down on it, only to lift it back up again as though it were injured.

"What's the matter big guy? You hurt?" Alfred took it's paw gently.

The dog whimpered and jerked it's foot away, hobbling away down the path as fast as it's injured paw would carry it.

"Ah! Hey, come back I just want to help!" The blue-eyed man pursued it slowly, not wanting to alarm the dog further. "Come here, boy... I just want to have a look," He soothed. "I'll take you to a vet and get you feeling all better, scout's honor."

The dog paused and let him approach again, tail wagging amiably. But the moment Alfred was close enough to touch it, the dog hobbled off again.

"No, no, no... Come here."

The black beast turned off the path and began to head back into the foliage. Alarmed, the American quickened his pace after it. It went against everything his mother had ever taught him to leave the poor animal out in the woods and vulnerable. He reached out to the dog again, making a soft clicking sound with his tongue. The canine turned slowly to face him with a soft sound. Alfred extended his hand again slowly.

A streak of orange shot past Alfred. It latched itself to the face of the dog with a feline snarl and began clawing and biting away at it. The dog yelped and twisted, it's body bulging out in odd places as it shook the cat free. It turned on its heels and fled deeper into the forest. Arthur landed gracefully on his feet and chased after it, running faster than should have been capable for such a small cat. Alfred lost no time in pursuing after the pair.

"Arthur! Arthur what are you _doing?_"

**A/N: ATTENTION!**

**HEY GUYS I'M ALIVE! I'm so sorry for the delay on this, this chapter gave me so many problems. Like you don't even know. It's the longest chapter by far (yay?), and hopefully it lives up to everyone's standards.**

**Now, I have a few things I want to set aside and make clear to everyone. **

**I've been asked how long I think this fic is going to be, and I honestly don't know. I expect it won't be under 20 chapters, because I have a lot of ideas I want to put in and a lot of things I want to touch on before I'm ready to call this finished. Not to mention Alfred and Arthur still have to get jiggy with it. (Oh God, I embarrass myself.)**

**I want to make it perfectly clear that I do not mind answering questions at all, in fact I _adore_ interacting with my readers.**

**SO. If you guys are interested, I just started up a tumblr account a few weeks ago. I haven't posted much, but then again it's brand new and I'm totally new to the site. There you could ask me any question you like, make put in a request, etc. I really do love you guys.**

**http: . com**

**Is the link. I look forward to maybe hearing from some of you. YOU ARE ALL INCREDIBLY SEXY REGARDLESS.**

**And should review more. Just sayin'. I'll sneak into your house and snatch your people up if you don't.**


	11. Chapter 10

Alfred raced after the small cat, swatting away the branches that smacked at his face. He barely felt the sting against his skin. The American was far more concerned with the disappearing orange speck in front of him. Arthur chased the poor black beast into a clearing. The heroic man burst through the dense foliage and stood behind the cat, who was puffed up and hissing at the canine.

Or at least, Alfred thought it was a dog. The friendly canine had become a snarling beast in the presence of the cat. Its face contorted and bared it's teeth, saliva dripping from the gaping maw. The massive body kept bulging in places, shifting slowly to make it seem as though the dog was getting larger and larger. The beast began to pace back and forth, growing and snarling, obviously looking for an opening to attack.

The tiny Scottish Fold was having none of that. Every step the dog made, Arthur was two steps ahead of him, braced for the assault.

"Arthur," Alfred murmured. The cat paid him no heed, green eyes deadlocked on the beast. "Arthur, what is that?"

The feral dog let out a low chuckle. The drool dribbled onto the ground in front of him. It was beginning to form a small puddle.

"If it isn't the Crippled King himself," The gravelly voice sent shivers up Alfred's spine. In a heartbeat Arthur was human again. He knelt in front of Alfred, emerald eyes blazing with fury. Power seemed to flow from every pore in Arthur's body.

"This human is under my protection," He hissed, "Leave now and I'll see that you pass unmolested through these forests."

The creature licked it's chops. "Now why would I want to do that? I have two delicious feasts right here." Arthur visibly tensed.

"Alfred, run," He commanded.

"I'm not leaving you," Was Alfred's reply.

"Don't be stubborn and just move your ass!"

"No."

Arthur whirled around to face him. His eyes blazed. "Dammit, Alfred! Now is not the time to be arguing with-"

The beast took the opening and launched itself at the pair with a roar. Alfred's instincts came to life and he shoved Arthur away with his left hand, his right coming around in a fist and landing a solid blow to the beast's side. The force of the hit pushed it away, but not before Alfred got a good look at the massive teeth. The dog collided with a nearby tree with a bestial grunt. It was only down for a moment, however, and quickly began scrambling back to its feet. Taking this as their chance to escape, Alfred grabbed Arthur's had. He yanked the Brit to his feet and raced away with him.

Arthur stumbled after him with a dazed expression on his face.

"Which way is back to the house?" Alfred yelled. The smaller man took a moment to come back to himself.

"I—N-no! We'd never make it back, he's too fast!"

"What the hell are we supposed to do then?"

"There!" Arthur pointed past him. "Through those trees is a pasture where they used to keep the horses. There should still be an old stable back there!"

A feline roar came from behind them, along with the sounds of something extremely large crashing through the forest.

"The fuck is that?" Alfred yelled. He leaped over a log, slowing for only a moment to be sure the Englishman was able to clear it as well.

"He's changed shape! Just go!"

The pair raced toward an opening in the trees. Alfred squinted while his eyes tried to adjust to the light, scanning the meadow for the stables Arthur had spoken of. Finally, he spotted them. A faded blue roof could be seen just over a hill. He picked up speed, nearly dragging the smaller man behind him.

"Shit! Alfred!"

The American half turned to see Arthur's hand slip away from his. The beast had Arthur's leg in his jaws. It was different now—no longer a dog, but instead a shaggy black panther. The Englishman delivered a kick to the top of it's skull, yelling something in a language Alfred didn't understand. The panther recoiled violently, releasing Arthur's leg and snapping it's head back and forth. A strangled roar came from it's throat.

In a flash, Alfred was back at the grumpy Brit's side. He pulled him into his arms as carefully as possible. The American sped off again, careful not to jostle the injured man too much.

"You twit, what are you still doing here! I can hold him off just fucking _go!_" Arthur shouted.

"I told you, I'm not leaving you." Cerulean eyes bored into emerald with an uncharacteristic severity. The Englishman's words became nothing but a gurgle as a blush rose into his cheeks.

Alfred sprinted the last stretch to the stable. The cat was back after them again, he could hear the giant feline's heavy breaths behind them.

"Arthur, I need time to open the door!"

"Just a moment, I..." The injured blonde struggled to lean around the big American. He held an arm out and began chanting in that strange language again. Arthur's body jerked for a moment and Alfred heard the big cat let out a pained yelp. "Hurry, Alfred!"

The American pressed the last bit of speed out of his body, rushing forward to yank open the wooden door and get himself and Arthur inside before slamming it shut again. He set Arthur gently on the ground, eyes casting around the run-down stable.

"I need something to block the door with!"

"Iron!" The Englishman panted. "Anything iron!"

Alfred snatched up a long tool they used for shoeing horses and shoved it through the handles of the doors. Thinking on his feet, he grabbed anything that looked remotely iron and blocked the doors in the back of the stables too. Luckily, the windows in the place were already bolted shut, with heavy metal locks that were bolted to the frame of the building.

"Is there anywhere else he can get in?" Alfred asked. Arthur shook his head, sweaty blonde locks beginning to stick to his face.

"No. All buildings on this land have their windows bolted with iron. Most of the doors are, too. Makes it hard for anything to sneak inside."

The American ran a relieved hand through his hair, then hurried back to Arthur's side.

"Shit, your leg..."

"It's... It's nothing you should worry yourself about."

"The hell it isn't. You're bleeding all over the damn place."

It was true. Arthur's pant leg was torn and soaked with blood. Alfred yanked off his shirt and ripped off a few clean strips, using the rest to prop up the injured limb. The Brit hissed in pain when the American pulled the material up slowly.

"Jesus," The young blonde murmured, "He did a number on you, Artie." The Brit suffered wounds from his ankle all the way up to his knee. The flesh looked as though it had been ripped to shreds, the lacerations deep and oozing blood. Alfred couldn't see any bone, so chalked that up as a win. After staring for a moment, he realized he didn't have enough bandages, the shirtless man took the remaining cloth from under Arthur's foot. He hated not having something for the green eyed man to rest on, but he needed the rest of the shirt to slow the bleeding. With a gentle hand, he tied the strips of cloth around the leg.

"Is this too tight?"

"No, no. It's fine. And my name is Arthur."

"Whatever. Let's get you somewhere safer." He took the Brit into his arms again and carried him carefully into one of the horse stalls. It wasn't exactly glamorous, but it looked clean and the door could be locked with a bolt. Alfred placed him gently back on the ground.

"There, this should be a little better at least," He said.

Their eyes met for a long moment; blood rushed simultaneously to their cheeks. Arthur was the first to look away, clearing his throat nervously. The younger man allowed his gaze to travel over his new friend's face. He suddenly noticed the deep bags under the the sandy blonde's eyes. He wondered how much of a toll their flight had taken on the man.

"Are you okay?"

The Brit's face flushed an even darker color. "I'm quite alright, considering the situation." Alfred highly doubted that, but he let it go. He then glanced over at the door nervously.

"It's awful quiet out there."

"Don't trust it, that's what he wants," Arthur groaned a little as he shifted his position. "He can sense the iron. Trust me, he won't even touch the walls unless he's one hundred percent sure we don't have some sort of trap set up for him."

"Mind telling me exactly what's going on here?"

"Why, Alfred. You want me to ruin our game so early?" They shared a humorless chuckle.

"After running for our lives, I'd say it's game over."

Arthur hummed in agreement. "I suppose you're right. What is it you want to know?"

"Everything."

"Let me rephrase. What would you like to know that will take me less than a decade to explain?"

"Everything. But paraphrased."

The American grinned. The Englishman rolled his eyes.

"Seriously, Alfred."

"Alright, tell me about you."

"... We have a shape shifting monster out there trying to kill us, and you want to know about _me?_"

"Well, yeah," The American grinned again. Color flowed into Arthur's face.

"I... Really wouldn't know where to begin," He said tentatively.

"How about... What are you? Where are you from? I want to know everything-" He stopped mid-sentence as the beast growled outside the doors of the stable. It could be heard clawing at the bottom, snuffing around for their scent. Both he and the Englishman stilled. When the creature moved on, they breathed out soft sighs of relief; unaware that they'd even been holding the air in.

"It's called a Phooka," Arthur murmured.

"A whata?"

"A Phooka. They're notorious beasts among my people. I thought we'd gotten the last of them out of the forests, but I suppose this one just found his way in."

Alfred turned back to look at the injured man. "Are your people nearby? Can they help us?" Arthur hesitated, then nodded slowly.

"I suspect they'll have realized my absence by now, we won't have to be in here much longer."

"It... It spoke, earlier. It called you a..."

"Crippled King. I'm aware."

The green eyed gaze moved away from the American. His hand seemed to unconsciously move to his chest.

"Why would he say that?"

"That's none of your concern."

"Arthur, come on. If there's anything I can do to help... I..."

"Don't. Just don't," His voice was soft. Alfred's chest tightened in response. He couldn't help but feel responsible, an intense protective feeling welling up inside of him. All of a sudden, he wanted nothing more than to take the Englishman into his arms and never let anything touch him again. The feeling made his face warm, and he didn't care to explore any more deeply into it. Though his curiosity was rather piqued at where this emotion had even come from. He'd barely known this guy for a day.

Clearly it was just his heroic instincts wanting to protect the fair damsel in distress. Clearly.

The black beast began clawing at the side of the stable, obviously trying to use a weak point in the walls as an entrance. Alfred stood.

"Why did you have me bar the doors with iron? Does that hurt it?"

"Yes."

The American walked away and began searching for something they could use as a weapon. He found a large pair of clippers meant for care of the horses hooves, a pair of tongs, and a hammer. Blue eyes examined the head of the hammer slowly, trying to tell what sort of metal it was. As far as he knew, most hammers like this were made of steel. He wondered if that would work. Hefting the large weapon over his shoulder, he strode back to Arthur with purpose.

"Hey, Artie. I found this-"

"Keep that away from me you twat!" The green eyed man snapped. Alfred paused midstep.

"What?"

"_That_," Arthur hissed, "Keep that bloody thing well away." The strawberry blonde glanced at the hammer in his hands, then back to the wounded man.

"Does iron hurt you too?"

"It makes me positively ill."

"Oh," Alfred set the thing down by the stall door. It was a fair distance from the Brit, but close enough that he could get to it in case of an emergency. "So are you like... Related to the Fooker?"

"The—what I don't—_oh_. The _Phooka_. No."

"But you can change shape."

"Not everything that change shapes is the same thing. More importantly, can you get _anything's_ name right without completely massacring it? First this...Artie nonsense and now _Fooker?_ Really? Is your brother's name really Matthew, or is that just another horrible perversion of his birth name?"

Alfred puffed up his cheeks. "You said it's name once, and I was kinda distracted by the thing trying to get into the door—and Artie is a great nickname!"

"No, it isn't. It's awful."

"Yeah, well, your accent is silly!"

"Oh, brilliant, is that the best you could come up with?"

"Hey, fuck you."

"Fuck you!"

They glared angrily at each other for a long moment. Alfred opened his mouth to say something that was no doubt unbelievably clever, when a small knock came from the stable door. The two men tensed again. Alfred slowly reached for the hammer, getting into a crouching position and near crawling out the stall door.

"Be careful," Arthur cautioned.

Alfred raised a finger to his lips and crept forward. The tiny knocking sounded again.

"Lord Kirkland?" Came the high pitched voice. It was so soft that Alfred nearly didn't hear it. There was a scuffling sound from the stall Arthur was hidden away in.

"Minty?" He cried.

"Your Highness!" The voice responded, louder this time. "Are you okay?"

"Thank God—Alfred, open the door. We can trust Minty." The Englishman was on his feet again, using the wall to avoid putting weight on his injured leg.

"Are you sure?" Alfred whispered. "The thing can change shape, what if it can change it's voice too?"

Arthur gave him a stern look. "Really, what are they teaching you humans anymore? I know it's really her, just open the door."

The American chewed his lip. With a final disparaging glance at the green eyed Brit, he slid the iron bar through the door handles and opened the door. A green blob flew directly at Arthur. Instinctively the young man grabbed him and yanked him closer, fearing that whatever it was that was going after Arthur was out to hurt him. The Englishman scrambled for balance, accidentally bringing the weight down on his injured foot. He let out a pained cry and blood seeped through his bandage. Alfred went to catch the poor man when Arthur nearly screamed.

"No, no, _he didn't mean it!_"

A sickening _thud_ rang through the young man's ears. Sounds suddenly became very far away. Alfred felt no pain, only a spreading numbness throughout his limbs. Blood bubbled up over his lips and spilled down his chin. Cerulean eyes widened at the feathered shaft sticking straight out of his chest. A shaky hand reached up to grasp it, his muddled brain deciding that he could survive this if he pulled it out. Arthur's call for him went unnoticed as he yanked it free; a horrible ripping sound as he tore the arrow from his chest.

Blood poured from him onto the floor. His vision darkened at the edges and Alfred stumbled backwards, numb to the arms that caught him. Emerald eyes gazed intently into his, the lips moving hurriedly.

On some distant level of thought he wondered what they were saying. His body relaxed and his world went black.

**A/N: Sorry not any Matt in this chapter guys! Ahahaha...cliffhanger. Suck on that.**

**ANYWAY the link didn't work last time so I'm trying again. I hate you fanfiction. You are such a cockblock.**

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	12. Chapter 11

The orange and white cat perched itself at the end of the American's bed, his green eyes blazing. The stony silence was only broken by Alfred's labored breathing and the gentle crackle of the fire in the corner. Arthur transformed himself quickly. Dainty paws extended into delicate fingers, legs extended smoothly out into the beautiful long appendages they were meant to be. Whiskers faded away and his face resumed its original, angelic features. With a twitch of his fingers his naked body was covered in a thin, opalescent robe. It was lined with a scarlet trim and threaded with gold and jewels of every size and color. A golden circlet of leaves wound its way around his forehead. As he moved to stand by Alfred's side, the imperial robe fell open to reveal a horrible blackened spot where his heart would lie beneath the skin. Thick tendrils of diseased flesh spread outward from the wound, crawling to the edge of his pectoral muscles and collarbone and nearly stretching down beneath his bellybutton. The Brit placed a gentle hand on Alfred's forehead.

The American was sweaty and flushed. His labored breathing was only worsening; pain was written in the lines on his face.

"My God, but you've grown," Mumbled Arthur.

Alfred let out a soft gasp. His sweaty hand clutched at the remainder of the wound left by the spear. Arthur removed Alfred's appendage from his chest, leaning down to capture the young man's lips in the gentlest of kisses. Half-lidded eyes glowed a bright emerald green. The glorious power of the Fae flooded into the injured body of the human beneath him. As the magic fled from his own body, Arthur felt the poisonous tendrils of his own wound begin to pulsate and spread. He would not let this stop him from trying to heal his beloved charge. He'd waited far too many years to get Alfred back to just lose him all over again.

The human's chest surged for a moment, his breath catching in his lungs as Arthur's power flooded through him. Arthur kept his eyes closed. He was far too focused on healing every little abrasion on Alfred's insides. Slowly but surely, the lines on his youthful face relaxed. His breathing slowed. Alfred was safe once more.

"Lord Kirkland!" Cried the flying green rabbit. She collided roughly with her King, pushing him away from the human. "The poison will spread, stop this!"

Arthur stumbled with the collision, barely catching himself against the wall.

"Minty, what the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" His breathing was labored.

The rabbit trembled in the air for a moment. Assaulting a King was no laughing matter.

"I became worried when you wouldn't leave the human's room... I brought a healer in case you... If..." Her nose wiggled.

Arthur growled and seated himself on the bed.

"I gave you specific orders that no one was to go near him."

"Y-yes my lord, and I'm sorry... But I couldn't stand by while you put your own life in danger. If the Unseelie were to-"

"_I'm aware of the damn consequences!_" Arthur snapped. "Do you think I don't realize the risk I'm putting my people in? All for this... this _stupid_ human? Don't you think that if I could I would have left all thoughts of him behind me years ago? I can't—I..." His breath caught in his chest. The Englishman slumped forward a bit. When he spoke again, his tone had softened considerably.

"I apologize, Minty. I'm being selfish again. Please, allow the Vila to enter."

There was a short pause before a golden mist billowed silently into the room. It floated carelessly over to Alfred, changing shape and consistency until a woman's face emerged from the smokey substance. Arthur paid the Vila no heed.

Minty hovered in the air for a long moment as the silence hung thick between them. Arthur stood from his perch on the bed and strode out the door into the hall. As he did so, he pulled the imperial robe tight around him. The winged rabbit floated swiftly after him.

In the room behind them, the mist began to pulse and glow. The scent of rich herbs began to spill out into the hall as the creature did its work.

"Lord Kirkland, I am sorry, but I..." The rabbit struggled for words. "I can't help but question your devotion to this human. I—I'm sorry my lord I've spoken far beyond my place." She bowed her head.

"It doesn't matter."

"...My King..."

"No, Minty, I've had enough of this conversation. There will be no punishment for the way you've spoken to me this day, but should it ever happen again I will have you expelled from the Court. You are dismissed."

"...Yes, my lord."

The King kept his eyes averted. Threatening his most loyal servant was not something he was exactly proud of, but he was their ruler and occasionally his people needed to be reminded of that. His hand returned to its habitual place on his chest. Only his closest advisers were aware of his illness. This made the matter of the Phooka all the more troubling. Phooka's were such lowly creatures among the Unseelie Court (not that many of them were very palatable to begin with) it made it a large danger for the beast to stay living. Arthur made a mental note that the soldier to kill the thing would be awarded most handsomely.

_I am finished, my lord, _A voice whispered through his brain like leaves in a spring wind. It carried with it the fresh scent of lavender. Arthur swiftly returned to Alfred's room. The American's breathing was much easier, the wound in his chest completely vanished from sight. There seemed to be no sign whatsoever of the fact he'd had a close brush with death.

"Will he be alright?" Arthur knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it again to ease his worry.

_He will awaken in a few hours. There will be no traceable injury left from the spear. To him it will be as though the incident never happened, if you so desire._

Arthur turned to face the Vila. "What of his brain?"

The creature's head tilted to the side, her translucent face thoughtful. _We have repaired most of the damage... Though we cannot return his lost memories. He must rebuild those connections himself._

"So there is hope, then?"

_It's...Possible, _The mist around the Vila thickened. She was clearly unhappy with the rest of her news, _My lord, whatever did this damage was massive. It's a miracle he's not a vegetable. This man has an amazing will to survive... But recovering what he has lost will be no easy feat. It seems likely to me that he shall live without those memories for the rest of his life._

Arthur allowed himself a smile. "Then you don't know Alfred."

_ Big blue eyes were wide with joy as the small child frolicked through the garden. Happy laughter echoed around him. He held a stick tight in his hand, bounding around off the stone benches on some imaginary heroic adventure._

_ "Get back, evil piwates!" The strawberry blonde flailed his stick ferociously. His golden-haired mother laughed happily at her son._

_ "You're sure teaching them a lesson, Alfred! They'll never rob these seas again!"_

_ The child beamed a smile up at his mother. Alfred hadn't quite begun to lose his baby teeth, so his smile was full and bright._

_ "I got them!" He cheered, throwing his arms in the air. His mother applauded this triumph with a laugh._

_ "Hooray for the brave hero!" She stood from her seat and strode over to her precious boy, ruffling his hair with a gentle smile. "Surely he deserves some juice for a reward. Would you like that, Alfie?"_

_ "I like juice!" Alfred declared. His mother hugged him close._

_ "I'll just be a minute, you stay right here, okay?"_

_ "Okay Mama!"_

_ The woman smiled lovingly at her son before pulling away and heading back into the house. She took one last glance at him out the window before scurrying off to fetch the boy something to drink. Possibly a snack, too. Alfred was no older than four, but he was already starting to eat like a horse. The young boy casually resumed his play. His mother would be no longer than a few minutes._

_ "Hyah! Hyah!" The blue-eyed blonde shouted, swinging his stick around in a clumsy manner. It didn't matter. In his mind he was protecting his Mom and his sweet Auntie from all the evil monsters that lived in the garden. He leaped into a bush with a mighty war cry, scaring the living hell out of a rabbit. _

_ "Ah!" Alfred cried as the bunny went racing past. "No, come back bunny! The monstews will get you!" He gave chase to the scared little thing, following it all the way up to the wooden gate where the creature wriggled underneath and ran off. The young American refused to let the poor creature be on its own in this world full of monsters. Tiny little hands released the lock on the gate door and Alfred began chasing the creature again._

_ The rabbit bounded down the path at lightning speed. As they ran into the woods, the young boy tripped over a stray root (the same root he would remember and leap over with ease years later) and landed flat on his face. A rock scraped his knee and blood began to seep from his wound. Alfred's big blue eyes filled to the brim. He began to cry, loudly. Tears flowed down his face in a thick river, his nose stuffing up and his tiny throat starting to get scratchy with all the force of his sobs_

_ "What the hell is all this bloody noise?"_

_ Alfred snuffled and curled himself into a little hurt ball, rubbing at his eyes and trying to be calm. His mother had always taught him to never speak to strangers. Strangers were sometimes monsters in disguise who wanted to hurt brave heroes._

_ A blonde man with the greenest eyes Alfred had ever seen emerged from the foliage. His clothing looked very odd and out of style. It was certainly nothing Alfred had ever witnessed anyone wear. The man caught sight of the small boy and a kind smile crossed his face. He strode easily over, kneeling down by the boy and petting his little head with a fatherly kindness._

_ "Now, now, lad... Dry your tears. Why don't you tell me what's the matter?"_

__**HEY GUYS sorry for the lapse, I've had some really personal things going on, and that's just kinda added to the writer's block. But your lovely little Pancake is BACK and ready to be sexy.**

**Oh my god the beautiful reviews I've gotten from you people.**

**They're wonderful and don't you ever stop being AMAZING! **


	13. Chapter 12

Alfred was bored. Incredibly, invincibly, unendingly bored. He was trapped in pitch blackness, weightless and numb. He'd been in a place like this once before. After the accident he'd been in a coma for months. Though it hadn't seemed that long to him, he'd been trapped in this place for months. But this time it was different. The last time he'd been here there had been pain. The medicine the doctors gave the boy did nothing for the haunting ache of his shattered limbs and torn organs. The jumbled memories of the accident had replayed over and over in his mind. It hadn't been a thrilling adventure, but at least he hadn't been bored.

Oddly enough, he could still remember waking up to his brother crying by his bedside.

_"What are you bawling about now?" _He'd said. His voice had been thick, rough with months of disuse, and completely foreign to him.

This time, however, there were no memories on repeat; no pain. There existed only the infinite blackness.

_There could at least be some music,_ He thought. The words seemed to float in front of him in an unseen text. How strange it was that even his inner voice made no sound. The American sighed. He couldn't imagine the kind of existence that someone would live if they had to stay here. If he hadn't woken up-

_What if this this time I don't? What if I'm here for good?_

Alfred shuddered. No, no, it couldn't be possible, could it? Yes, he'd been injured pretty badly when that arrow hit him, but surely Arthur could heal him.

_ If it isn't the Crippled King himself._

Or maybe Arthur couldn't. The beast that attacked them spoke as though the man were completely defenseless. He'd tried his damnedest to hide it, but the truth was that something was obviously wrong with the Fae lord.

_ "My God, but you've grown,"_ Arthur's soft voice wrapped around the phantasm of his body and warmed him like a comfortable robe. Alfred latched onto this fragment of the outside world like a desperate man.

He needed to get out of here. The American had far too much going on—what if Arthur was still in danger? What about Matthew? Would he be alright? He had so much he needed to protect...

There was no way in hell he was going to stay in this place. Alfred gathered his spirit together and began to revolt against his prison. He pushed outwards and propelled himself through the empty black space by sheer force of will. It felt as though his stomach was trying to drop out of his body, like being on an amusement park ride. But much less fun. Wind roared in his ears as he soared upward. His hair whipped violently in the air.

Alfred began to feel himself near the surface of consciousness. For a brief moment he felt the connection with his physical body. Once more he felt the earthly weight of his limbs. The rush of pain from his wounds catapulted him forward to the threshold of awaking up. The first gasp of air he could manage flew from his waking body as he desperately tried to regain control of himself. It was then that a light pressure, like a butterfly's wing, was against his lips. The heat of the contact, accompanied by a strange, pulsating sensation, flowed through Alfred's body like an ocean wave. Pain receded from his body, washed away by the tide of warmth.

_Don't leave me again..._

Alfred paused on the brink of awakening. Was Arthur healing him? There was something about that that was bad, something he should know that nagged at him from deep in his mind.

_Remember._

_ I need to remember._

Alfred shoved against the surface of consciousness and flew back deep into the darkness. Falling, falling back into the pitch blackness until his spiritual self hit the ground. Hard.

"Oof—shit! Fuck, that hurt!" He cried. Blinded once more, Alfred's calloused hands searched around him. Cold, gritty earth greeted his wandering fingers.

"Dirt," Alfred grumbled, scooping some in his unseen hand and letting it slip through his fingers, "I have a dirty mind. Awesome."

_Focus, Alfred, _he commanded himself, _you've got to remember what Arthur does. You need to get back whatever it is you're missing. Maybe you've actually got something useful locked up in this big empty brain of yours._ The American gritted his teeth climbed to his feet.

From afar, a light flickered to life. It started as a dim shade of emerald, barely illuminating whatever sort of ground Alfred was on. He felt his physical body relax as the delicious pressure against his mouth faded away. Then the bright light flared, nearly blinding him. Warmth flooded the emptiness, and as the mist solidified to swirl around him; the bleak world of his mindscape erupted with life. A brilliant cerulean sky appeared from above him like someone pulling back the curtains. Grass sprang up underneath the man's bare feet, and a soft breeze that carried the smell of fresh clover ruffled through his blonde locks. A great tremble shook the ground as mountains burst outward from the earth, splitting it in twane and sending Alfred crashing to the ground once more.

_ "Holy shit!"_ The young man cried, throwing his arms over his head for protection. He crouched down into a protective ball like he'd been taught in grade school. He waited there until the ground finally began to still. Off in the distance, birds began to sing. Alfred allowed himself to peek out of his ball, expecting desolation and ruin. Instead, the American found himself staring at a brand new world. Green fields stretched on for eons, with the outline of a mountain range sitting atop them like a perfect painting. Not far away, he could hear the sound of a waterfall. Alfred warily stood once more and turned to face the noise of the falls.

A startlingly clear river carved a path through the landscape. It glittered like diamonds in the sunlight. Alfred's gaze traveled up the running water, to where it somehow ended at the most brilliant castle he'd ever seen. It was an intensely white marble, with tall spires that threatened to tower over the cliff behind it. A domed entryway appeared to end off in a small plaza, with twin staircases spiraling off each side. Four stone columns stood tall at the edge of the plaza. In between them, miniature waterfalls cascaded off and formed the river.

Feeling as though he was drawn to this place, Alfred set forth. Flowers sprung up beneath his feet as he walked. When he paused his gait to inspect this new flora, the flowers burst into a cloud of butterflies. Alfred laughed. It was hard to believe that all of this was only in his head.

"And Mattie said the only creative things I make get flushed," Alfred mused. He reached the white stone steps and raised a tentative foot to them. As the pads of his toes touched the stone, he sighed with relief. It was cool, solid, and oddly smooth. He slid his hand along the banister as he walked, fingers dipping into the intricate grooves and swirls. The farther he climbed, the more amazed he was by his imagination. The plaza of the castle had a mosaic of the sun, bright yellows and oranges spreading out across the stone. In the center of the sun rested a large fountain. A small river flowed from under the castle door and into the fountain, where it was either sucked up and spit out in the jets of water or continued to run off into the waterfalls. The statue that stood in the center of this display was undoubtedly Arthur. Much like the statue at their aunt's house, Arthur had beautiful, angelic wings emerging from his back. He was dressed in a thin toga that seemed to be billowing in the wind.

However, unlike the one in the garden, this fountain did not depict Arthur as unhappy. Here he stood proud and strong. His mouth was set in a firm line of determination. The Brit's arm was outstretched and palm up, with a sculpted sun sitting on the edge of his fingertips. The water rose in six small geysers behind him, giving Arthur the appearance of a demigod reaching to claim the sun as his own.

Alfred stared at it for a long moment. Then he shook his head, wondering if Arthur didn't put up this statue of himself while he was healing him. If that was even possible. What the hell would the grumpy Brit be doing in his imagination otherwise?

The man turned from the statue and padded slowly to the giant mahogany doors that made up the entrance. Alfred flattened his palm against the wood and pushed. The doors didn't even creak. With a frown, he pressed with both hands and shoved. Again, they would not give.

"Oh no you don't," He growled. The young man braced himself and threw all of his body weight into the push. Simultaneously, a golden light swept up the steps of the acropolis, rushed over him, and swirled around his legs. It traveled up his body and down his arms, throwing the doors wide. The light flew into the castle and disappeared.

Alfred blinked a couple of times. He looked at his hands.

"Well, how 'bout that," He said. The opened doors revealed a long hallway of marble, with a high arched ceiling and a thin red carpet that lay perfectly in the center. The hall itself was decorated with paintings of Alfred in different stages of his life. One depicted him and his mother as he blew out his first birthday candle. A smile crossed his face. Alfred crossed the threshold and the gigantic doors closed behind him.

As he began to walk, he examined the pictures on the wall. They seemed to be lined up from his youngest years to his older. He paused in front of one and frowned. The picture itself was blackened and ruined. Only the vaguest of outlines existed to suggest there were people in the portrait. However, there was one distinct object left. A pair of glorious green eyes stared out at him from the blackened husk of a painting. Alfred raised his hand to wipe away the black substance.

"Don't touch him!" Came a tiny voice. Alfred turned, eyes wide with surprise. Half hiding behind a pillar was a young boy with strawberry blonde hair. His chubby cheeks were puffed out in anger.

"O-oh. Um, hi. I-I wasn't tryin' to hurt it or nothin', I just wanted to see if this stuff would-"

"Don't! Don't touch anything!" The child's brilliant blue eyes filled with tears. "You're bad! You're a bad guy and you're here to break more stuff!"

"What?" Alfred asked, genuinely surprised, "I'm not a bad guy! This is my place...I made it."

"No, it's mine!" Cried the little boy, "It's mine and you can't have it back! You forgot him, you hurt him and I hate you!" He turned on his heel and ran away from Alfred.

"What? Hey, hey kid wait!" Alfred raced after him. He followed the kid all the way down the hall, leaping forward and snatching him into his arms just as the passage ended into a large atrium. The boy struggled violently in his arms.

"Let me go!" He screeched.

"I just wanna talk to you!" Alfred grunted. "I'm looking for something important!"

This caused the child to still for a moment.

"It's something I lost," The older man explained, "I need it and I don't know what it is or how I find it."

The boy turned to look at him, and once more Alfred's eyes flew wide in surprise. He was holding a younger version of himself. The boy's eyes brimmed with tears.

"Why should I help you? You made me so lonely..."

Alfred released him from his grasp.

"I want to remember... But I need help. I'll do what I can to make sure you aren't lonely anymore, I'll imagine you a friend, okay? Just please. If you know what this place is, exactly, and how I can use it to get what I need..."

The ceiling above them creaked loudly. Man and boy looked upward in alarm. The glass of the atrium was cracked and broken in places, but was somehow sealing itself back together.

The boy looked at Alfred. "Why would I help you? Look at what you did to my house! You broke it, you made it dark and scary a-and you took him away!"

"But I want to fix it," Alfred pleaded.

His younger self seemed unconvinced.

"Look," Alfred waved his hand, "This place is getting repaired. I'm working really hard to make things better..."

Young Alfred turned away.

Alfred began to plead, "Please. I want to do everything I can to make things the way they were here. But I... I can't do it alone. There's something wrong with... With Arthur. Do you know who-"

A tiny fist collided with his jaw. It hurt a lot more than he would've cared to admit.

"Of course I know! It's your all fault, stupid! You made him sick! You left him and forgot about him—he _told_ you what would happen and you did it anyway!" The child was crying again. "You're killing him!"

"I am _not!_" Alfred shouted. The boy flinched away."I care for Arthur a-a lot! I want to help him, I want—" his voice grew softer, "no, I _need_ to make him better. I think he's in trouble and...I... I couldn't live with myself if I didn't do everything tI can o help him. He needs a hero, Al."

The younger Alfred twiched. He glanced quickly at Alfred and then back away, as though thinking. Finally, he looked Alfred directly in the eyes. His mouth was set in a determined line.

"...I'll help you, but only for Arthur."

Alfred's mouth curved into a relieved smile, "Thank you. Now please... Tell me what you know."

The boy fidgeted and kept glancing away.

"Arthur...he...he did a bad thing. It made us mad so we...we made him sick."

It was the first time he'd referred to the pair as the same person. It seemed the child had been placing all of the blame on his older self, trying to relieve himself of the guilt. The elder Alfred sat back and frowned.

"That doesn't sound like m-us. We don't hurt people just because they make us mad."

"Sometimes we do," young Alfred whispered.

"No, why would we?" He paused for a moment, "Wait... what... exactly... was the bad thing that Arthur did?"

The boy closed his mouth. He rubbed his arm guiltily.

"I don't wanna tell you."

"But I need to know."

"What if I tell you and we get mad again? I don't want us to leave Arthur... He... He needs us."

The older man frowned. "What happened between us and Arthur happened years ago... I'm sure we won't get mad again...we're grown up now."

"I...I can't..."

Alfred groaned in frustration, "Please. I _need_ to know this."

The boy looked up at him.

"All I can say is...is be his friend. His sickness isn't...it doesn't go away like a cold. There's no medicine that can fix him."

"There's nothing I can do? You said you knew how to fix him!"

""I do but... Medicine can't do it. All you can do is be his friend and...hope for the best." The boy glanced up at the glass ceiling. "If this place is getting fixed, then your memories should start coming back. Maybe you'll remember what Arthur did, what you did, but it'll hurt. A lot." Young Alfred began speaking less like a boy, and indeed he seemed to be growing before Alfred's very eyes. "But for now, you don't belong here. You should go. He needs you." He reached forward and placed his hand on Alfred's forehead.

Alfred woke up.

**A/N: Hey everyone, I'm sorry for being gone so long. Someone very close to me passed away and I've had some trouble getting inspiration. However, I'm back in action. I tried to make this chapter super long to make up for the time I've been gone. ;u;**


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